TCOT Felonious Financier
by Captain Weirdo
Summary: A case from Mason's past comes back to haunt him.  A person from his present haunts him a bit as well.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N I don't own this stuff. Thank you to whatever powers that be for letting us play with these characters. _

Prologue:

Perry Mason slammed his suitcase closed.

This wasn't how things should have turned out. He'd flown into Sacramento the day before, ready to testify at Jason Cooper's parole hearing. Most of the morning he'd spent cooling his heels in the waiting area, along with other interested parties in that morning's parade of hearings. When Cooper's session was finally called, Mason was allowed to make a brief statement on behalf of the victim, his client, Mildred Roberts. However, the fact that the victim was now deceased robbed his testimony of much of its weight.

A few short minutes and one or two witnesses later the board made its decision. Jason Cooper, model prisoner, was approved for parole on his first eligibility.

Perry picked up the folder his secretary had prepared for him and flipped it open. He sighed deeply as he contemplated the small clipping of Mildred Roberts' obituary attached to the top page of the file. The familiar picture smiled up at him – warm brown eyes and a care-worn face.

Mildred Roberts had been one of his early clients. She'd trusted him with her problem even though he was still wet behind the ears, operating out of a dingy office in a less than prime location. 'Less than prime? Less than safe is more accurate,' he mused. He shared a building with loan sharks, quack doctors and more than one bookie.

Mason smiled at the memory. Fresh out of law school and unsuited to work in the confines of a larger firm, he fought long and fought hard for every client willing to take a chance on him. Unfortunately for Mildred, that fight hadn't amounted to much in the end.

Jason Cooper had bilked her and several others out of their life's savings. He'd used his father-in-law's investment firm as a front. George Simpson, his ill-fated in-law, had taken the brunt of the legal action. Repaying the investors bankrupted the firm, but still the victims received only a small portion of what had been taken from them. Simpson and Cooper both received jail time, but Cooper cooperated with authorities first, leaving Simpson to swing in the breeze. The younger man's sentence was considerably shorter than that of his employer/father-in-law.

Now Cooper was going to be a free man, and hard work had put Mildred in an early grave. It just wasn't fair.

'Life isn't fair,' he told himself, tossing the folder onto the bed, next to his briefcase. The flimsy platitude didn't improve his mood at all. He flopped down on the bed and reached for the phone.

"Perry Mason's office. May I help you?"

"Hey," was all he said.

"That bad, huh?"

He could almost hear the smile in the rich tones of her voice. "That bad," he replied. "He's been a model prisoner. Completely reformed, no doubt. He's been granted parole."

"I'm sorry, Perry. I know this case meant a lot to you."

He nodded in reply, although she had no way of seeing. "Are you busy tonight?"

"Not especially," she replied. "I can stay if you need me. What do you want to work on?"

"I don't want to work," he said, tiredly. "I want to do something fun. Can I interest you in a steak dinner, dancing until the clubs close, followed by a drive up into the hills to watch the sun rise?"

She didn't answer immediately and when he sensed her hesitation, he added, "I'll even throw in breakfast on the way back home."

Della Street laughed. "You've got a deal. However, that means I have to close up the office for the afternoon."

"Why is that?"

"If you expect me to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed all night long, reminding you of the inherent goodness of the universe while keeping my footing on the dance floor, I'm going to need a nap!"

Mason laughed then. "Not a bad idea. I'll sleep on the plane. Pick you up at eight?"

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

The sky was turning grey, not even a really a color, just less dark. Perry Mason's sleek black Cadillac was facing east, its driver and his companion sitting on the hood, legs stretched out in front of them, leaned back against the windshield.

Della Street yawned prodigiously.

"I thought you took a nap," Perry said.

"That was over 12 hours ago! Give a girl a break." She yawned again. "I guess I should have known that a man who works as hard as you do would play just as hard."

Perry chuckled contentedly. "I like living at full speed. If I slow down, I might start to sink."

"You seemed pretty sunk earlier today – yesterday," she said.

"Mmm-hm." His voice was thoughtful. "The Cooper case has always been a sore spot with me. It was a hard lesson."

Della remained silent, inviting him to continue.

"It was the first case I won that didn't really make much of a difference. We did everything right, Mildred and I. Even though I managed to get the jury to award her damages and the return of the money –retirement savings – that she'd invested, she never got any cash to speak of. The only sort of justice she received was when Simpson and Cooper went to prison. And even that was tainted – Cooper was the mastermind, Simpson just got caught in the middle, but Simpson ended up doing the real time."

The lawyer sighed. "I don't like winning only to find out that I've still lost."

Had it been light enough to see, Perry Mason would have been thrilled to see the emotion shining in his secretary's eyes.

But it was dark. He didn't see and she didn't say anything. They talked of other things and nothings until the sun rise captured their full attention. Once the sun had risen, they stopped for pancakes at a diner and then went home to separate beds and separate lives and it was a long time later before the man learned that the woman felt the same for him as he felt for her.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Months later:

Perry Mason cleared his throat loudly as he crossed the office to his desk. The "Good morning, Miss Street", he'd delivered with his usual tongue-in-cheek formality from the office doorway had gone unnoticed or ignored. His secretary remained bent over his desk, palms flat on the surface, reading the newspaper spread out before her.

"He's certainly got some nerve," Della Street said, straightening up from her reading.

"It was just a simple greeting," he replied, feigning chagrin.

Della smiled and shook her head. "Not you - him." She pointed to the photo on the front page of the business section. Mason came around the desk to stand next to her. He slipped his arm casually around her waist as he leaned over her shoulder to read the paper.

The photograph was of Jason Cooper. His smiling visage accompanied an article detailing his new business venture – a capital investment firm.

Della turned and slid her hip onto the edge of the desk, watching as the lawyer sank into his leather desk chair, all the while engrossed in the article. She studied his face, waiting for a reaction.

It came without warning.

"Son of a bitch!" Mason exclaimed, not lifting his eyes from the newsprint.

"Mm-hmm," Della responded, crossing her arms over her chest. He quickly skimmed the rest of the article, then tossed the paper back onto the desk.

"So. Jason Cooper, fresh from a stint in the state prison system, is the new fair-haired child of the business community," he said.

"Yes. And he wants it made clear that he harbors no ill will against those not-so-fair-haired members of the legal community whose self-serving efforts put him there." Della's sarcastic tone left no doubt as to her opinion of the article and its subject.

Mason grinned. "All I got out of trying that case was sleepless nights, big headaches and a self-funded trip to San Quentin to testify before his parole hearing. Some payoff!"

Della smiled at him, a touch of tenderness in her expression. "All that and a broken heart."

The lawyer didn't answer. He leaned back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head and a faraway look in his eyes.

"I wish I could've met her," Della continued. "I've never known you to fall for a client like that. She must've been something else."

"Oh, she was," Perry answered. "She waltzed in here off the street, found me buried under law-books and dirty ashtrays. She told me she didn't have money to pay a lawyer, but she knew how to whip an office into shape. Told me if I'd take her case she'd work for me for free to pay me back." He looked up at his secretary. "She reminded me of my aunt, the sheep rancher in Arizona."

Della met his gaze, eyes twinkling. "The aunt who practically raised you?" Mason nodded. "How long did it take Mildred to 'whip you into shape'?"

"Not long! She was definitely the take-charge type." He laughed. "I had only been in practice on my own for a couple of months. Couldn't afford a secretary. When I worked for a law firm, I didn't realize how much work the secretarial staff actually did until I struck out on my own. I was floundering. I don't know if I would have made it without her help. Mildred Roberts was my lifeline."

"And you were hers, no doubt," Della said with a smile. "Recently retired and all her money swindled away from her by Jason Cooper. I know she must have been very grateful for your help."

Mason shrugged. "I don't know that I was all that much help. Sure, we won a judgment against Cooper and I managed to interest the federal courts in prosecuting him for securities fraud, but we never saw a dime of her money. Cooper filed bankruptcy and took a plea bargain. He got a slap on the wrist but that was about it." The attorney picked up the newspaper again. "And now he's back and ready to lure a whole new crop of sheep into his wolf's den." He shook his head. "Mildred worked for me for about six months after the trial. I paid her, of course. She was worth every penny."

Della nodded sympathetically. "No doubt you were just as important to her as she was to you."

"I hope so. She certainly taught me a lot in the short time she was here – before her heart gave out on her."

Della squeezed his shoulder sympathetically and got to her feet. As she left the office, she looked back over her shoulder at her employer. He frowned at the face in the paper once more before wadding it up and tossing it into the trash. With a sigh he picked up the nearest stack of correspondence. Della quietly closed the door behind her and went back to her desk and her own stack of work.


	2. Chapter 2

_A few years later…_

"So I suggested that when his neighbor brings homemade brownies to his door and asks if he can spare a glass of milk, she doesn't really care if he has any milk or not," Della Street said, her voice slightly exasperated.

Her employer, Perry Mason, laughed aloud. He and Della were in the parking garage of the Brent Building in downtown Los Angeles. The rush of five o'clock traffic was winding down as the two of them talked, leaning nonchalantly on the hood of Mason's car. "Jackson was probably afraid she wanted free legal advice or something."

"I don't know if it's that or if he knows exactly what she had in mind, but he's not got the slightest idea of how to proceed." Della shook her head. "Where did you find him, Chief? The man acts as if he's lived his entire life under a rock on a library sidewalk."

Mason laughed again. "He came highly recommended by an old law school professor of mine. I only hope the poor man survives."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"You scare him to death," Mason said, grinning mischievously.

"Me? What have I done?"

"You've exuded sex appeal all over the place," Mason replied. "Jackson is terribly frightened by sex appeal."

Della buried her face in her hands. "Oh, no," she moaned. "Please tell me you are joking."

"Nope." Mason's grin widened. "Told me so himself. About a month after he started working here. Came into my office one day and asked if you could be restricted from his office. He wanted to deal strictly with me." Mason chuckled at the memory. "I told him no, that you were my assistant and in charge of running the office, which meant the two of you would have to work together. I asked him what the problem was and he said... " Mason broke into laughter, unable to continue.

Della swatted his arm. "What did he say?"

"He said he was unused to dealing with the female sex and you seemed unable or unwilling to separate your -" Mason choked back another laugh. "- your 'feminine wiles' from your 'workplace demeanor'. He was worried that the 'predatory nature' inherent to your sex would interfere with his 'ability to maintain the proper focus' on his job."

"Of all the -" Della started, but Mason interrupted her.

"He suggested that if the two of you were to continue to work together, that I instruct you wear more 'somber clothing' as well as educating the entire office staff about the importance of projecting a properly solemn attitude and its' value to the quietly efficient operation of a professional office."

"Somber clothing?" Della exclaimed, arms crossed over her chest. "The nerve of that little bookworm!"

Mason collapsed against the car, laughing until he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

"I ought to paint my nails red then strangle him with my bare hands, I suppose," Della said sarcastically. "What does he expect me to wear? A nun's habit?" She gestured towards her shirtwaist dress. "The only way this outfit could be any more 'somber' is if I had on a veil!"

Still chuckling, Mason cut his eyes at her and ran his gaze appraisingly up and down her body. "Definite sex appeal," was his pronouncement.

Della threw up her hands in exasperation. "This dress? You can't possibly be serious! This dress looks like something a Sunday School teacher would wear to an all day prayer meeting."

Mason took a long drag from his cigarette. "If my Sunday School teachers had looked like you do in this dress, I would have grown up to be a minister instead of a lawyer."

"I think perhaps you might be biased, Counselor," Della replied.

"Think so?" he challenged. "Maybe I am, but you could wear a potato sack and still look like a million dollars, Della. And don't think that I'm the only man that notices." He'd missed laughing and sparring with her like this. They hadn't been this comfortable with each other in months. So many things had changed since that night in Mexico.

Della shrugged off the compliment and turned away from him slightly. Reaching out, he grasped her shoulder and gently prodded her into facing him. Perhaps her feelings for him hadn't changed. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her. He could feel his heart racing in his chest. The spark was there, in her eyes, just like before.

Running footsteps echoed through the garage, headed from the street door towards them. Mason felt his secretary stiffen and pull back as she realized they were no longer alone. He reluctantly released his hold on her. They both turned to see a young woman, dressed for an office job, scurrying towards them, blond hair trailing down her neck where it had worked its way free from the pins that tried to hold it in place. She slowed her pace somewhat as she neared them, but she didn't seem to notice that anyone else was in the garage.

As she came closer, the lawyer took note of her flushed complexion and the nervousness in her expression. She glanced around furtively and gasped in surprise at the sight of the lawyer and his secretary.

"Can I help you? Are you looking for someone?" Mason asked as he took a step towards her.

"No, I, uh, I'm going to see someone here. Thank you, anyway," she said. Her voice was well-modulated, but there was a tinge of hysteria in her speech. She backed away and started to hurry towards the building entrance.

"It's almost six o'clock," Della called after her, noting the curiosity in Mason's gaze. The woman paused. "Most of the offices will be closed by now. Who did you wish to see?"

"Oh, I didn't think..." her voice trailed off and she checked her wristwatch as if to verify Della's words. "I've simply got to see him tonight." Her tone was somewhat desperate.

Della glanced at Mason. He nodded almost imperceptibly. Della moved closer to the woman. "Who are you looking for? Perhaps we can help you find them." She smiled warmly. The other woman glanced between Della and the tall, dark-eyed man behind her. She looked down at the paperwork she carried in her hand and seemed to come to a decision.

"I'm looking for Perry Mason. I'm in an awful jam and I know he can help me. I really need to speak to him. Do you know if there is any way to contact him after hours?" She looked pleadingly at Della.

Della smiled. "Yes, there is. In an emergency. Is this an emergency?"

"Oh, yes!" the woman exclaimed. "I'm probably going to be arrested before the night is over and I simply must talk to him before I go to jail. I must!" Her voice broke slightly and she gripped her purse and the paperwork tightly to her chest.

Della glanced back over her shoulder. Perry Mason stepped forward. "I'm Mason. Why don't we go upstairs to my office and you can tell me what's going on?"

"You? You're...? Oh, thank God!" The woman took a deep breath. Mason took hold of her elbow and turned her back towards the bank of elevators he and Della had exited previously. The ride up to Mason's office was quiet and by the time they reached their floor, the woman had her breathing under control and she stood a little straighter.

Once he'd unlocked the door to his private office and ushered the two women inside, Mason spoke. "Let's get down to it, Miss. Who are you and why are you so desperate to see a lawyer?"

"Not just any lawyer - you, Mr. Mason. It has to be you!" She took a deep breath. "My name is Millicent James. I work for Jason Cooper – in his mining speculation business."

Mason raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Della, who'd quietly ensconced herself at the corner of Mason's desk, paused the skimming motion of her pencil across the pages of her notebook and glanced at the lawyer with slightly widened eyes.

"I know of your history with Mr. Cooper, Mr. Mason. I know the details of the Mildred Roberts case," she said. "She was my aunt."

"Your aunt? Then how did you come to work for Cooper, given your background? I did everything in my power to send Cooper to jail for swindling your aunt on those fraudulent investments years ago, Miss James. I don't see him as the type that would be willing to forgive and forget and hire his victim's family to work in his office."

"He didn't. I made sure not to give any information that could connect me to my aunt. Evidently it worked and he hired me." She drew a breath and looked at the lawyer expectantly. Mason waited patiently, his granite-like features masking his thoughts. "I knew if Mr. Cooper was in any kind of business, it was bound to be crooked. I watched and I waited and whenever I had the chance, I snooped." She cleared her throat somewhat self-consciously before continuing. "This afternoon I found these." She pushed the papers across the desk towards Mason. He made no move to take them.

"And what are 'these'?" he asked.

"Proof of Jason Cooper's latest scheme. He's working some sort of stock swindle - something to do with a new mine. I think these documents will prove that he's running an illegal operation. They are from a second set of books he keeps in his private office. I managed to divert the cleaning lady when she came in and unlocked his office. I grabbed whatever I could and took off. I...I don't think I was followed."

Mason made no move to accept the paperwork, but sat back in his chair, long thin fingers steepled in front of his chin. Millicent James's desperate eyes looked from lawyer to secretary and back. Finally he spoke. "Why did you take it upon yourself to investigate this? Your aunt's case was settled years ago."

"That man is responsible for my aunt's death! She was never the same after he cheated her. You know how it was, Mr. Mason. It wasn't so much that he took her money, but he also took her faith in people. She trusted him implicitly, and couldn't believe she'd allowed herself to be duped like that. I'll always believe that was a major reason her health declined so quickly. Her death is on his head!"

"Perhaps. But if you want to investigate Jason Cooper, then you need a private investigator, not an attorney, Miss James."

"Normally, yes. But Mr. Mason, my name is on some of these papers. Some of them are my genuine signature and some I'm sure are forgeries. I think I'm being set up to take the fall on this latest mining scheme. I had no idea until I started looking through these documents." Her voice took on a note of barely controlled hysteria. "I didn't know what to do. You have to help me!"

Mason seemed not to have heard the outburst. He continued to stare at the papers she'd laid on the desk. "You took these from his private office without authorization. They can't be used in a court of law." She opened her mouth to protest, but Mason cut her off. "However, we can gather what information is contained in them and use that as a means of directing our investigation."

Mason looked up at the woman. "No one knows you have these papers?"

She hesitated. "I...I'm not sure. I ran into Mr. Cooper in the parking lot when I left. He was going back up to his office. He saw that I was carrying some documents, but didn't ask me about them. However, if he happens to look through the books, he'll find that they're missing and I'm sure he'll put two and two together. If he does, he'll have me arrested." The pitch of her voice rose as her hysteria began to return. "That's why it was so important to see you tonight. I tried to make sure I wasn't followed. I entered this building through the parking garage because I wanted to see if anyone followed me in."

Mason nodded. "You've got to return these papers. Now. Tonight."

"But, Mr. Mason - !"

He held up a hand to silence her. "Return them, as soon as you've made photostatic copies. I have a law clerk here who is a genius with corporate law. I'll have him look them over first thing in the morning and find out what we can about the scheme." Mason shifted his attention to his secretary. "Della, is there somewhere we can take these documents to be copied after hours?"

Della stood and gathered her notebook. "Certainly. If you'll come with me, Miss James. I'll call ahead so they'll be waiting on you."

"Oh, thank you," Millicent James breathed an audible sigh of relief. "I'll make the copies and take these straight back to where I got them."

Mason nodded and stood up from the desk. "I'm coming with you. We'll make sure the documents are returned then get you out of there safely. That should be all we need to do for now." He looked towards Della who was on the phone in the outer office. When she hung up, he caught her eye. "I'm going with Miss James to copy and return the documents. Would you mind digging out the file on the Roberts case while I'm out? I shouldn't be long. I'll review that in the morning after meeting with Jackson."

Della nodded. Her eyes conveyed her concern and possibly disapproval, but she said nothing.

PDPDPDPDPD

"How will we get into the office?" Mason asked. Millicent James had just returned to his car after having the documents copied at an office supply store. She handed Mason the copies.

"We could ask the cleaning crew to let us in. They should still be in the building. Or, there is a fire escape. I don't think the window that opens onto the escape is locked. It's plenty big enough to climb through."

"We'll do that," Mason said decisively. "We don't want any witnesses."

The drive to Cooper's office was relatively short and completed in silence. Upon arrival, Mason parked halfway down the block and across the street. As he parked the car, Millicent looked towards the building's entrance. "What's he doing here?" she exclaimed.

"Who?"

"Paul Blanton. He's the mining supervisor; an old army buddy of Mr. Cooper. I think he was a sergeant in Mr. Cooper's squadron in the war and they kept in touch since then. Blanton runs the mining operations, supposedly. If he's skulking around the office after hours…" Her voice trailed off into uncertainty.

Blanton continued down the other side of the street to the corner where he caught a taxi waiting at the curb. Once he was out of sight, they walked down the street towards the office building and Millicent James showed Mason the alleyway. They gained access to the fire escape with little trouble. Within moments both were standing relatively unscathed in the darkened offices of Cooper Land and Mine Speculations, Inc.

Once inside, Mason gripped Millicent's arm, signaling her to silence. They stood motionless for a few moments until the lawyer was satisfied there was no one else in the office. "Alright," he whispered. "Can you do this in the dark or do we need to turn on lights?"

"There is enough light coming in through the windows. I can do it," was Millicent's reply. She crossed the room to open a door on the far side. Mason followed closely. "This is his private office. It's still unlocked," she told him.

They entered the office, which was bathed in a mixture of twilight and street lights which coated the scene in shades of murky gray. Millicent crossed to the filing cabinets and pulled open a drawer. She put several files into the drawer, then moved to the next cabinet. As she did, her elbow brushed the open drawer, causing it to roll back into the cabinet with a bang. "Watch it!" Mason hissed from behind her. He stuck his head out the door into the reception area, listening and watching.

He heard a soft click at the second drawer closed. "That does it," Millicent whispered. He turned back towards her in time to see her stumble and fall as she started towards him.

Mason cursed under his breath and went to help her up. As she gained her feet, he took a closer look at the area behind the desk where she had tripped. Suddenly his posture stiffened and he took a step back.

"What is it?" Millicent asked quietly.

Mason whirled on her. "What's going on? Is this some kind of a cheap frame up?"

"What? No! What are you talking about?" She sounded genuinely confused.

"Hand me that lamp!" he demanded. She picked up the desk lamp. He knelt and held it close to the floor before switching it on.

A high pitched keening started in the back of Millicent's throat. "Shut up!" Mason snarled. He ignored her for a brief moment while he examined the body of the man sprawled behind the desk. Then flipped off the light and grabbed hold of his client, pulling her back through the door, through the reception room and back to the fire escape.

"Who—?" she inquired.

"Out. Now. And be quiet about it," he said. They made their way down the fire escape and to the opening of the alley. A fence running along the back of the building left them with only one direction of exit. As they reached the opening, they slowed their progress and tried to appear unhurried as they headed for the car. Only a few steps down the sidewalk, Millicent suddenly gripped her attorney's arm painfully.

"It's a police car! And they're stopping right next to ours!" She began to turn back, as if to run.

Perry Mason spun her around and shoved her into the darkened doorway of a closed store. He pushed her into a corner, his body resting against hers and began to kiss her feverishly. Millicent James grabbed hold of his lapels to steady herself, allowing him to cover her body with his.

"Hey buddy! You can get a room down the street for just a few bits more!" The jeering voice dissolved into laughter as the heavy-footed steps of the patrolmen continued past them and down the sidewalk to the office building just vacated by the kissing couple.

Finally satisfied that they were again alone, Mason pulled away. "M-Mr. Mason!" his companion exclaimed.

"Sorry," he said. "I couldn't take a chance on him seeing us well enough to make an identification later." Millicent merely nodded and smoothed her rumpled clothing. "Let's get out of here," Mason said and they made their way to the car.

He stopped a few blocks away and made an anonymous call to the Homicide Division of the Los Angeles Metropolitan Police. Although police had already been called to the scene, the lawyer complied with the letter of the law and completed the technicality of reporting the body. He dropped the receiver into place even as the dispatcher was demanding his name and rejoined his client in the car.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Mason dropped his client at her apartment building with strict instructions to say nothing to anyone, and returned to his office. Inside he found his secretary seated, dwarfed by his big leather chair, as she read the late newspaper which was spread out across his desk. She started to move from the chair, but he waved her back.

"Keep your seat – I gotta make a call and I'm too keyed up to sit."

She raised an eyebrow in question, but resumed the seat and listened as he called the office of Paul Drake, Private Detective.

"You still have that police scanner, Paul?"

"Yeah. We keep it on pretty much all the time. Why?"

"Anything going on right now?"

"I haven't been paying attention, but nothing out of the ordinary that I've noticed."

"Fine. Get down to my office. I have a job for you." He hung up the phone without waiting for a reply. When he met Della's eyes he grinned sheepishly. Della stared at him for a moment, her expression resigned. The she shook her head.

"I knew she was going to be trouble," she sighed.

"You did not!" he challenged. "You even felt sorry for her!"

"I did. Until she tried to stick you with stolen business documents. Then I realized she's either congenitally stupid or just out to get you."

Mason tried to glower at her. "You could've warned me."

Della picked up the newspaper, flicking it into place as she sat back in the chair to read. "Why bother?" she said dryly from behind a wall of newsprint. "You would still have gone chasing off with her, just the same."

Just then Drake's code knock sounded on the hall door. "I've got it," Perry said.

"Hi, Be-," Paul Drake cut off the nickname when he saw that it was Perry, not his beautiful secretary, that opened the door. "What's up, folks? And make it fast. I was on my way out the door when you called."

Perry crossed the room and perched a hip on the corner of his desk. Paul folded himself sideways into one of the client chairs and Della lowered the paper, looking expectantly at her employer.

Mason quickly filled his audience in on the details of what had happened.

"Who was it?" Drake asked.

"Was it Cooper?" Della asked almost simultaneously.

"Lord, you are vindictive, woman!" Mason said jokingly, drawing an exasperated look from her. "Actually, I'm pretty sure it was George Simpson."

"Simpson?" Drake asked.

"Cooper's father-in-law and business partner. The only other person in the Roberts case that did any prison time." Perry went on to instruct the detective to make discreet inquiries into when, or if, Simpson had been released from prison as well as finding out anything he could about the body in Cooper's office.

"Damn, Perry," the detective drawled, uncurling himself from the chair. "Why not do like everybody else and just call the cops when you have a problem? Your taxes are paying for them. Why not put them to use?"

"Because I don't want to get arrested for one felony while in the midst of reporting another felony," the lawyer replied grimly.

After seeing the detective out, Della Street passed through the door from Mason's office into hers as she turned off the lights for the second time that evening. Mason shrugged into his coat and picked up his hat.

"This is dynamite, Chief," Della said as she crossed the room to retrieve her coat and purse.

"Don't I know it," he agreed, his expression thoughtful. "Cooper hates me like no one else." He met her troubled eyes and grinned. "I really thought he was going to take a punch at me the day I took his deposition for Mildred Robert's civil suit. If the bailiff hadn't stepped between us when he did, I would've come back to the office with a huge shiner!"

"Or worse," Della said seriously. "Since you've gotten mixed up in this," she said with a sigh, "please promise me you'll be careful. Really careful. Cooper evidently made it clear back then how he feels about you and I doubt he would have any compunction about killing you if he had the chance. I doubt that time has done anything to dull his appetite for revenge."

"Don't worry, Della. If something happened to me, Jackson could carry on the practice in my stead. The two of you would make a great team - fire and ice, hare and tortoise, beauty and -"

Della silenced him with a glare, but he could see the smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

Perry Mason arrived at his office the next morning earlier than usual. His secretary was already there. He'd barely had time to set his briefcase down before Della entered from her office. "Well? Have you heard anything?" she asked.

"Not a peep. Nothing from Paul yet?" he asked, reaching for the newspapers she'd left on the blotter.

"He called first thing and said he didn't have much to report other than what's in the newspaper. He said he'd come down once he'd had time to drink his coffee and chew on a few preemptory antacid tablets."

Mason chuckled and settled down to read the media's account of the murder of George Simpson.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

"...and, as such, your continued opposition to the terms of the original contract makes the point of ownership moot and will therefore negate the possibility of..."

Perry Mason's voice intoned his argument regarding a contract dispute to his secretary as he dictated a letter to the opposing party. It was nearing the lunch hour and Mason had spent the better part of the morning cooped up in the law-library, finding the citations to support his position in the suit. He'd not heard anything from his client and Paul Drake's report didn't offer much in the way of new information.

Mason finished the paragraph he was dictating and paused in his pacing. He appeared to be staring at the floor as he thought and Della waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts and continue. She was seated at the conference table and took advantage of the lull in dictation to study the skyline outside the office windows. Her attention was captured by the brightly colored bird who'd taken advantage of the balcony rail for a morning siesta. As she watched, the bird preened its feathers before settling back to sleep. Della rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath, letting her body relax for a moment before returning her attention to her notebook.

Perry Mason watched the simple scene with hungry eyes. Watching Della was like watching a delicate, dexterous cat. She moved with a feline elegance that was always sure to attract his attention. Even something as simple as rolling tension out of her shoulders seemed to him as if it was a practiced ballet move - fluid, graceful and meant to be savored. A flash of memory gripped him and he could almost feel those graceful limbs wrapped around him once again. Mason blinked as Della returned her attention to her steno book and he tried to remember what he'd intended to say next. He'd just about finished the argument; Della could easily compose the closing of the letter on her own. He quickly finished off the last of his dictation.

"That's it. Just close out the letter from there, Della."

"No problem," she said, glancing back through her notes. "You want this to go out in this afternoon's mail?" She stood and gathered up her notebook and pencils.

"If possible, but there's no real rush." Della nodded in response and walked towards her office. Mason's eyes followed her progress, catching the smile that she threw over her shoulder at him as the door closed behind her. The lawyer regarded the door for a beat, then reached for a law book, turned to the marked pages, and began to read. Within a few minutes he'd leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the corner of the desk as he continued to study the printed page.

Some time later there was a knock at the door and Della slipped inside. She leaned her hips back against the closed door and waited for Mason to look up. He finished the sentence he'd been reading and then met her gaze.

"It looks like this is it," she said. "Lt. Tragg is in the waiting room."

Mason closed the law book and tossed it to the side of his desk. "Let's not keep him waiting."

Della returned momentarily with the police lieutenant in tow. He shook the lawyer's outstretched hand and took the seat across from Mason's desk.

"Slumming, Tragg? Or just lonely?" Perry asked as he slumped comfortably into his leather desk chair.

"Lonely. I missed Della." He grinned at the secretary, seated at a table next to the balcony doors. She looked up from her notebook and smiled at him. Tragg turned his attention back to Mason. "Your client is asking for you."

"My client?"

"Millicent James. She's down at police headquarters right now."

"What in the world is she doing there? And if she needs an attorney, why didn't you let her call me?"

"I told her I was heading over to see you and would relay her request. At the moment she's being held incommunicado at the station. No one will try to question her further until you get there." Tragg leaned forward slightly in the chair. "As for the why – I don't have to tell you, I'm sure. She's being held on suspicion of first degree murder."

"What!"

Tragg settled back into the cushions, his smile sardonic. "Oh come now, counselor. It's not as if that's news. I know she came to see you last night."

"Yes, and of course she mentioned in passing that she'd made plans to murder someone. She just wanted to see me to make sure that I'd be available to defend her if she got caught." Mason's voice was perturbed.

"You've heard about George Simpson?" The lawyer nodded. "Well, I've got a witness who puts your client and an unidentified man at the scene of the crime, just about the time of the murder."

Mason dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "You know how unreliable that kind of circumstantial evidence is, Tragg. And it's not like you to come running over here to gloat. What is the real reason you've come?"

"I also have the statement of the patrol officers who responded to the initial call. They're red-blooded young men and on their way into the building, they noticed a couple step into a doorway and start in on a pretty heated lip-lock. Now, my men can't make a positive ID, but the general description of the woman fits your client." Tragg's level gaze locked onto Mason. "And the man could easily have been you."

"Or any number of other men, Tragg," Mason sighed. He shook his head. "I sincerely hope you pass this little gem of deductive reasoning along to the District Attorney. Even Hamilton Burger would admit that I'd never pull something like that with a client. The ethical ramifications of having an amorous relationship with an active client are much too serious. And besides," he kept his eyes locked on the detective, "it's not like I don't have better options."

Tragg's gaze never left the lawyer's. It was as if the two men were making a conscious effort not to let their eyes stray to anywhere else in the room. "I am well aware of that, Counselor. I've always thought you have some of the best options of anyone I know." His eyes twinkled.

"So you'd agree that I'd have to be pretty stupid to have been making out with a client out in the open on a city street?"

"Oh, I'd agree." Tragg got to his feet and placed his hat atop his head. "But that doesn't mean I don't still think it was you." He nodded at Della before letting himself out into the corridor.

Perry cleared his throat and turned back towards his secretary. "Della, you—." She interrupted him by handing him the hat she'd retrieved from Blackstone's brow.

"Headed to the jail?" she asked.

"Yes. I guess I'd better go see how bad the damage is." He couldn't quite meet her eyes.

"Mmm-hmm," she replied, opening the door to her office. "Call if you need help. I'll have a bail bondsman standing by," she purred. The door snapped closed behind her with just a tad more force than was absolutely necessary.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDP

Sometime later, the phone on Della Street's desk rang. When she answered, Mason's voice came on the line. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"Yes, about an hour ago. Why?"

"Oh." He sounded slightly crestfallen. "I got Miss James out on bail and I need to talk with her. But she hasn't had anything to eat all day. I thought you might want to join us for lunch."

"I can grab a notebook and meet you, if you're planning to question her while you're eating," Della offered.

"No, that's ok. We'll just grab a quick bite at a lunch counter and come back to the office and I'll talk to her there." He paused. "Della, about what Tragg said…I can explain. It was the only thing I could think of, and, well…"

Della's voice lowered slightly, as if she were making sure she wasn't overheard. "Listen, Perry. You don't owe me anything. I thought we'd both made that clear to each other. You don't owe me a thing, least of all an explanation." Her voice resumed its normal volume. "I'll see you when you get back to the office."

Perry Mason stood staring at the receiver for several moments after the line went dead.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

"I swear to you, Mr. Mason! I had no idea that body was there. I barely knew Mr. Simpson! Why would I want to murder him?" Millicent James pleaded with Perry Mason from her seat in the client's chair across from his desk. Della Street sat unobtrusively at the conference table behind the pair, taking notes.

"I'm sure I don't know. But I'm equally sure the DA will come up with a reason," Perry Mason replied evenly. Millicent James looked as if she were about to cry. The lawyer's scrutiny never wavered.

"You do believe me, don't you, Mr. Mason?" she asked tremulously.

"Of course I do. However, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't take into account that a high percentage of clients feel that they need to either withhold information or flat out lie to their lawyers. I don't know why people do it, but they do. It's taking a terrible chance with your life. You lawyer has to know everything if he's going to be any help to you."

"You do know everything, Mr. Mason. You know that I stole those papers. Jason Cooper evidently realized I didn't leave the office and he stayed around to keep an eye on me. And you were with me when I returned them. You know everything…," she hesitated a beat, "that happened then." Millicent James looked up at him from beneath thick lashes.

"Simpson knew Cooper was grooming you for bigger responsibilities?"

"Yes, I was there one day when he mentioned it to Mr. Simpson directly. Mr. Simpson had only been at the office a few times. He still hadn't really acclimated to being out of prison. He didn't do any work, just hung around and watched mostly. Sometimes he studied the files on various projects, making notes and such. Mr. Cooper told him I'd shown promise in the investment side of the business and he was giving me a chance to be more involved."

"Was this before or after you got suspicious about the mine scheme?"

"Before."

Mason nodded. He was quiet for a moment, evidently lost in thought. "Well, there's nothing more you can do for now, Miss James. I want you to go home and stay there. Don't talk with anyone, especially not newspaper reporters."

"You don't have to worry about me, Mr. Mason. I'll be silent as the grave." She gave him a little smile.

"Be careful," he warned. "Some of the papers may try to slip a sob sister columnist in to make friends with you and get the story. So be especially suspicious of anyone who tries to start up an acquaintance with you."

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

I'm going to find out what's really going on here." He turned to his secretary. "Make a note for Jackson, Della. Tell him I need him to research a couple of issues of mining and investment law. I'll meet him in the law library as soon as we're done here."

The secretary nodded and rose to complete the task.

Mason turned his attention back to his client. "I'm going to find out who's really behind this murder, Miss James. And I'm going to start by finding out about the investment fraud. That will give us a direction to go with this. Don't worry – if Jason Cooper is doing something illegal, I'll do my best to expose it to the proper authorities. And we'll find out the truth behind this murder."

He stood to signify the end of the interview. Once again Millicent James grasped his hands in hers. "Thank you Mr. Mason. You wouldn't believe how much better I feel, now that I've talked to you. You inspire confidence, you really do."

Della entered the office just in time to hear that statement. Mason judiciously avoided her eyes and maintained a grave expression as he shook Millicent's hand. "That's what I'm supposed to do, Miss James."

"Yes, of course. But I can't help but feel that you go above and beyond." Millicent smiled up at the lawyer as he withdrew his hand from hers. She winked at him, and turned to nod at Della Street before she exited the office.

Once they were alone, Mason sighed and leaned back in his desk chair. "I am not really sure our client has much of a defense. She was in the right place at the right time to commit this murder. And her name may be on some documents, providing proof of fraud. And, by extension, motive for murder."

"Do you think she did it?" Della asked.

Mason grinned at her. "You know better than to go asking pointed questions like that, Miss Street." He became more serious. "But, no. I don't believe she did it. And I'm going to have to find indisputable evidence of who the real murder is, or she's going to prison. Or worse." He slumped in the chair and drummed his fingers rhythmlessly on the blotter. "I guess I'd better get Jackson to work going over as much of Cooper's corporate record as we can. This is going to be a tough job."

Della's expression was one of comic innocence. "Oh, Mr. Mason," she exclaimed, her voice taking on a breathy reverence. "If anyone can do it, you can! Why, you inspire confidence just by sitting there, slouched down in your chair like that."

Mason made a face at her. She laughed.

"Well, I suppose I'll see what I can round up for Jackson to look at. Then I'll put Paul Drake to work," he said. "Are you free for dinner?"

She smiled at his hopeful tone. "Sorry. I'm meeting a friend at the tennis club. We've tried to book a court for two weeks and she would kill me if I cancelled on her again."

Mason nodded and looked at her, his gaze somewhat wistful. "This job wrecks havoc on your social life, doesn't it? Tell your friend I'm sorry about that."

Della's smile softened. "You haven't heard me complain have you? I enjoy tennis, but it's not half as fun as watching you solve a mystery."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N I gratuitously and unashamedly stole one of the jokes in this chapter. If you can tell me who said it first, you get bonus points._

"Well, all I can say is at least you're a gracious winner."

Della Street laughed as she tightened the press on her racket before placing it in her gym bag. "It happens so seldom that I don't have room to gloat!"

Helen Marshall fixed her friend with a friendly glare. "Yes, you seldom play tennis any more. But you still cream me most of the time! I wish I had your backhand."

"I'd trade it to you for that killer serve," Della countered. Helen laughed.

"Why don't you just buy me dinner and we'll call it even," Helen said. "I know you can afford it, since you're raking in the bucks working for a high-priced attorney."

"That's true. I make almost as much as those wage slaves like you, working as personal assistants to big time movie producers," Della replied.

Within a short time, the women were seated at a table near the center of the tennis club's large dining room. Della Street and Helen Marshall attracted their fair share of attention from the rest of the room's occupants. Della was taller than Helen, but the two had similarly athletic figures. Helen's blonde hair and low-cut blouse were both engineered to garner male interest. Della was dressed somewhat more conservatively, but her sultry voice and smoldering eyes caught and held the notice of any man who gave her more than a cursory examination. At the moment, however, the two friends were more interested in their own animated conversation, rather than the looks from the other dining patrons.

Helen looked over the rim of her water glass at Della. "So? Are you going to tell me about him?"

Somewhat startled, Della dropped her eyes and gulped at her own water. "Him?"

Helen's sigh was exasperated. "You know who I mean. Mr. Tall, Dark and Loaded. The man who's responsible for the horrible lapses in my tennis game."

"Oh. He's good."

"I'm sure he is," Helen purred. "Details, my dear. I'm dying for the details."

Della couldn't help but laugh. "You are terrible, Helen! But honestly, it's mostly just work between us. Perry works like a maniac when he's on a case. I really am sorry for putting our friendship on the back burner, but things have been so busy these last few months."

Helen eyed her companion closely. Her voice dropped to a more serious tone. "Listen, honey, I don't mind being on the back burner if you've got something boiling on the front of the stove. But you keep telling me there's nothing going on. If that's true, well… He seems so nice and the two of you look fantastic together. He's smart, wealthy, and probably kind to animals. What are you waiting for, Della? Hook him and drag him into the boat, already!"

Della was saved from a reply by the appearance of the waiter and their food. Once they began to eat, conversation slowed somewhat and Della glanced around the crowded room. "This place is really crowded tonight. That's unusual for mid-week," she observed.

"There is some sort of society club meeting going on," Helen said. "I saw the sign on the notice board on the way in. I guess a lot of them stayed afterwards to eat."

A few moments later, Della leaned in closer to Helen. "Do you see that woman – the blonde in the blue dress, at the corner table? Is it just my imagination or is she staring at us like she knows us?"

Helen glance surreptitiously in the direction Della indicated. After a moment she said, "She looks familiar, maybe, but I can't place her. You're right, she certainly seems interested in us."

Della shrugged and the subject was dropped. A few minutes later the two women were laughing over stories of Hollywood wrangling that Helen loved to pass on. When they'd finished their dinner, they made their way to the parking lot and were just saying goodbye when the blonde Della had noticed earlier appeared next to them.

"You work for Perry Mason." It was more of a statement than a question.

Della eyed the woman with undisguised curiosity. "Yes, I do. Have we met before?"

"I am Susan Cooper. Mrs. Jason Cooper." She stood ramrod straight, white-gloved hands clasped in front of her, giving the impression that she was conversing with the servants.

Helen glanced questioningly towards Della, who met Mrs. Cooper's disdainful gaze with raised eyebrows. She didn't speak.

"I saw you in the dining room and recognized you from seeing you in newspaper photos with Mr. Mason," Susan Cooper continued.

"I see," Della's voice was calm and controlled.

Helen spoke up impatiently, "What do you want, Mrs. Cooper?"

Susan Cooper never moved her gaze from Della. "I need you to deliver a message to Mr. Mason."

"Perhaps it would be better for you to phone the office and speak to him in person," Della said.

"I trust that you are more than capable of relaying my message, Miss Street. Tell Perry Mason that he has caused more than enough trouble for my family. His vendetta against my family has ruined my life. My husband and my father both sent to prison. The business left in ruins! I had to give up my place in society and my charity work. And now, just when I thought things might finally be getting better, my father is murdered by yet another of Perry Mason's clients!" Susan Cooper radiated cold, controlled rage. She glared at Della.

"You are mistaken," Della said, her voice steel hard. "Mr. Mason has no vendetta, as you call it. He is an honorable man and only interested in seeing justice done."

"Justice?" Mrs. Cooper spat out the word. "Framing a frail old man and disgracing him before his family and his community? Ruining my husband's business? Having him railroaded into prison as well? That's justice? And now that my poor father is dead, Mason is trying to get his killer freed."

She continued before Della could make a reply. "You may claim he has higher motives, but he's a ruthless lawyer. He wins cases by berating people, whether it's on or off the witness stand. I'm here to tell you that it won't work this time. Not if I have anything to say about it. I intend to let everyone know just what kind of a frame-up your employer is capable of."

"If you really believe Mr. Mason would be capable of framing someone, then you've obviously no idea of who he really is." Della's eyes searched the other woman's face. "I'm sorry that your father is dead, Mrs. Cooper, but you can't hold Mr. Mason responsible for your problems."

"Oh no?" The woman's voice hardened perceptibly. "He was the one who supposedly discovered the evidence that pointed to my father. Then he turned it over to the district attorney and pressured them into making an arrest. Jason would have had a long prison sentence, too, if Mason had his way. He was after both of them. I suppose he had nothing to lose since the more of a fuss he made, the more money Mildred Roberts was willing to pay him."

Della drew in a sharp breath. "I'm not interested in arguing with you," she said. "But know this – Perry Mason doesn't need or care about any money Mildred Roberts or Millicent James or any of his clients pay him. He believes in justice. And he fights for what he believes in. I don't suppose I can expect you to understand that, but I'm not going to stand here and listen to you any longer." Her voice was calm, but her eyes flashed with anger. "If you wish to speak to Mr. Mason, make an appointment to see him, but you and I have nothing further to discuss. Good evening." She turned towards her car. Susan Cooper reached out and grasped Della's arm.

"You listen to me – "

Della whirled on the other woman, her eyes blazing. "Take your hands off me." Over her shoulder, she told Helen, "Go call for the security guard. He can escort Mrs. Cooper off the property."

Whether it was fear of a scene in front of her society friends, or fear of the fury radiating from the athletic brunette, Susan Cooper dropped her hand and stepped back.

She drew in a deep breath through flared nostrils. "Very well, I'm leaving. But remember this – I will not sit idly by while Perry Mason destroys my life. Not again."

With that she turned on her heel and stomped away.

After a long silent moment, Helen spoke. "Well."

"Well," Della echoed. She let out a long breath.

"You get this kind of thing a lot?" Helen asked. "If so, whatever he's paying you, it's not enough."

Della chuckled. "No, that was a first."

"Are you going to be ok? Or do I need to follow you home and make sure you don't have to fight off any other distraught wives?" Helen grinned. "Although, seeing how your boss is such a hot item, I'd figure he'd have to worry more about disgruntled husbands than angry wives."

Della gave her a sly smile. "No need for a chaperone, Helen. I doubt there will be anyone lurking in the garage waiting to jump me over the law firm's tax returns or anything."

Helen laughed and hugged her friend. "Well, be careful, anyway. That was quite a speech you gave just then."

Della shrugged. "He's a good man. It's not his fault that Susan Cooper's husband is a crook."

"Um-hmm. And the fact that he looks like a matinee idol who spends a lot of time alone with you behind closed doors in that posh office downtown has nothing to do with it," Helen teased. "If I were you, I'd go straight to Perry Mason's apartment and let him know what happened and how upset I was over the whole ordeal. Then he could offer me a drink to calm my shattered nerves, and…"

"Goodnight, Helen," Della said firmly, unable to hide her smile.

"'Night, Della."

PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD

"Maybe she has a point, Della." Perry Mason's voice sounded tired. He leaned his elbows on his desk and rested his chin in his hands.

"Of course she doesn't!" Della exclaimed.

Mason had arrived at the office a little after 9:00 a.m. and Della told him about the previous night's encounter with Susan Cooper over coffee. Now Della set her cup forcefully on the polished wooden surface of her employer's desk to emphasize her statement.

Mason shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "I never really believed that George Simpson was fully culpable. Jason Cooper was no doubt the brains of the operation. I always thought he probably cooked the books in order to make Simpson take most of the blame. Just like he's trying to do with Millicent James."

"But Simpson owned the firm. Cooper was his son-in-law! He had to know what was going on!"

"I'm sure he did, to an extent," Mason replied. "But I think he'd turned most of the day to day operations over to Cooper by the time Cooper's schemes were discovered. I think Cooper used his wife's father as a rubber stamp for his illegal activities and then arranged for it to look like Simpson was behind the swindle and he was just following orders."

"How is that your fault?" she asked.

"I let Cooper use me as a cat's paw. I'm the one who found the so-called proof of their firm's involvement and turned it over to the DA. When Cooper was pulled in for questioning, he managed to throw Simpson to the wolves and get off almost free, himself." Mason's gaze was lost somewhere in the distance beyond the office windows.

Della leaned forward from her perch on the corner of his desk. She covered one of his hands with hers. "You're not to blame, Perry. You did the right thing. If the DA got suckered by this con man, that's his problem, not yours."

Mason glanced down at their joined hands. He sighed deeply and squeezed her fingers. "Maybe. It doesn't change the fact that the real crook may have gotten free to do the same thing again." Slowly, his thumb caressed the tops of the fingers he held. "And now Simpson is dead."

After a moment he looked up, catching her eyes. "Della," he began, but even as he spoke she was sliding off the desk and pulling her hand away. She smoothed her skirt and gave him a quick smile. "I've got to get back to the typewriter. You have to file the Evans brief today, remember?"

He tried, and failed, to return her smile. "Duty calls, I suppose."

She had crossed the room and was grasping the doorknob. He called her name. She turned.

"Yes?"

He started to speak, but hesitated for a beat. He could see the wariness in her expression. She tensed expectantly. He felt his chest tighten and he realized he had no idea what to say.

"Never mind. Not important."

She nodded and stepped over the threshold, closing the door softly behind her.

PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD

Later that morning, Jackson knocked on the door to Perry Mason's private office. The door swung open and he was face to face with the lawyer's personal secretary. He took an involuntary step back.

"Well don't just stand there," Della said, opening the door wider, although she didn't move from where she stood.

Jackson swallowed and stepped through the door. As he passed next to Della, his eyes were dragged down the front of the snug, high-necked, black sweater that she wore, to the silver pendant resting against the swell of her breasts. The pendant – her initials – glinted in the light as she finally moved back and allowed him an unobstructed path to Mason's desk.

As he approached the lawyer he saw the man's eyes look past him, highly amused, to make eye contact with the secretary standing behind him. Jackson chanced a glance back towards the woman and saw her standing there, hands on her hips and a sardonic grin on her face.

Jackson sighed inwardly and glanced down at the legal pad he carried. He'd made copious notes and copied innumerable precedents to back up his legal reasoning. But if that woman was going to be here for the meeting, he knew he'd have an even harder time keeping Mason's attention than he normally did.

Much to Jackson's relief, Della opted to return to her own desk and the meeting proceeded fairly quickly. He informed Mason that his client could indeed be held liable for any part she took, knowingly or otherwise, in the illegal business practices of the investment company. Mason agreed with his assessment and gave Jackson instructions for preparing a suit and requesting an injunction against the Cooper Capital Investments Company. It was the surest way to keep his client from being dragged into any future investor's lawsuits.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

When Della had finished typing the final draft of the brief they'd been working on, she returned to Mason's office. He gave it a final once over and pronounced it done. As he was signing the cover letter, he asked "Anything new from Paul?"

"Nothing yet. Are you waiting on anything in particular?"

"A couple of things. I'm just trying to find a hand-hold in this case. I'd really like to unravel this before the weave gets any tighter." He got up from his chair and began to pace. "I don't get any sense that my client is being dishonest. Although, like most clients, she's probably withholding some vital bit of information."

"Doctors and lawyers," Della murmured.

"Um-hm," he agreed. He hooked his thumbs into the armholes of his vest and studied the pattern of the carpet as he walked. "I've got to put the whole picture together quickly – before someone tries to drag me in on this, too."

"Can you be drug?" Della asked, concern darkening her eyes.

Mason grinned at her. "Always. But so far no one's been able to make anything stick."

Della's smile was tinged with worry. She started to speak, but changed her mind and turned her attention to the notes scrawled on the notebook in front of her. Mason leaned against the edge of the desk and crossed his arms.

"What I really need is a better idea of what was going on with George Simpson. Millicent James' motive doesn't ring true to me, Della. It looks like Jason Cooper was going to use her as the 'fall guy' in the mine scheme, but what would Simpson have to do with it? From all accounts, he hadn't been out of prison long enough to really even get involved in the business again." He continued his cross-carpet trek. "Whatever else is going on, Miss James has been rather quiet. I would have expected her to burn up the phone lines trying to get information on what we've found out so far. She strikes me as a worrier."

"Perhaps she feels safe just knowing that you are taking care of things." Della smiled up at him. "You do have a way of inspiring confidence in fair maidens, Chief."

Mason grinned. "So why are you always so worried about me, then?"

Della stood and walked towards her office door. "Because I'm neither fair nor a maiden," she purred at him just before she slipped through the door and closed it silently behind her. He threw back his head and laughed out loud.

A distinctive knock sounded at the door. Mason was still chuckling as he turned the knob and gestured Paul Drake inside.

"What's so funny?" the detective drawled.

"My secretary has a gift for comedy."

"So what's the joke?" Paul dropped into a chair.

"You had to be there." Mason sat down in his desk chair and leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. "I need you to find me a break in this Simpson case."

Drake laughed. "Tell me something I don't know. Why do you think I'm here?"

"I am surprised George Simpson was already out of prison," Mason said. "I guess he must have been a model prisoner?"

The detective nodded in agreement. "He was. No write-ups, no problems. He tucked his tail and did his time. The DA's office contacted him a few times and offered to advocate for a reduced sentence if he would turn over the money he stole. He apparently never even answered their letters. He came up for parole fairly quickly due to good behavior."

"What had he been doing since his release? Who did he spend time with? What were his plans? Why would anyone want him dead?" Mason asked. "If I can figure out why someone would want to kill him, I'd know who killed him. And what about Paul Blanton? He was there that night. He's got to be the mysterious witness Tragg has who put my client at the scene. Either he found the body and reported it, throwing my client under the bus when he did it, or he knows who the killer is and is covering up the crime."

"Or he's the murderer and thought he'd try to look like an innocent bystander by reporting the body to the police," Drake said. Mason nodded distractedly.

"There hasn't been a peep from Blanton since the police finished with him," Paul continued. "I got some background on him, just general information."

"Spill it."

"He's been with the company since shortly after Cooper was released from prison. He's a war vet and after coming home, he sort of bummed around southern California, doing odd jobs, mostly. Then he came back to L.A. and hooked up with Cooper. He acts as sort of a trouble shooter. His actual job duties are a bit murky. He reports directly to Jason Cooper. He's been the mining operations man for the past couple of years. Doesn't go in for office work, but supervises mining investments, on site. Currently he's working out at the Coyote Mine, the one that's in dispute."

"He's still on site?" Mason asked.

"Ever since the murder. He's staying in the foreman's shack. Hasn't even been back to town. Could be hiding from someone out there."

Perry looked thoughtful and began to pace the office floor. "I want to find out why Blanton is hiding out, Paul. I need that and I need the information on Simpson. Put as many men on the job as you need. I need results soon."

Drake nodded, made a few scratches in the notebook he habitually carried in his coat pocket and headed for the door. "I'll get my secretary started on the expense sheets for this right away," he said with a grin.

Mason grimaced. "Go easy - I don't know just how much the traffic will bear on this yet."

"You're a softie - I know you'll pay," Drake said. "It's getting this stuff past Della that's the hard part."

"That's why I pay her the big bucks."

Drake laughed and closed the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

"Jason Cooper is on the line," Della's well modulated voice informed him when Perry Mason lifted the receiver of his desk phone to his ear.

"Put him through," he replied, a hint of grim determination in his voice.

A click signaled that the connection had been made. "Mason?" Jason Cooper's gravelly voice sounded in his ear.

"What do you want, Cooper?"

"I was just visited by a process server who tells me he's in your employ. What in the world do you hope to accomplish with this asinine lawsuit? I do your client a favor by trying to teach her the investment business and now this? It's not enough that she killed my father-in-law? Now you're trying to sue me over her business activities?"

"You tried to drag my client into one of your illegal schemes. Then someone framed her for murder. Millicent James is not going to be a patsy for you or anyone else."

"That is an unfounded accusation, Mason. Keep it up and I'll hire a process server of my own!"

"Is there a point to this call, Cooper? If so, get there in a hurry."

"Look, you've claimed my mining speculation is fraudulent. I dare you to come out and inspect my operations. You haven't got a leg to stand on. I'm giving you free reign. You name the time and I'll have someone out there to show you whatever you want to see. This is no scheme – it's a solid investment."

The lawyer hesitated for a moment. The mine would be inspected by experts as a part of the lawsuit, but he couldn't deny that the opportunity to have a legitimate reason to talk to Paul Blanton was tempting. "Tomorrow afternoon."

"Fine. Paul Blanton, my mine supervisor will meet you there. Say two o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

"Expect a messenger with directions to the mine this afternoon, then. This is legit – you'll see, Mason." The connection was severed with force as Cooper slammed down the phone.

Mason winced and gingerly replaced his own instrument. He looked up to see Della leaned against the doorframe. She raised a quizzical eyebrow. He grinned at her. "Process server is on the ball. Feel like taking a drive out to the desert tomorrow, kid?"

"Just the very thing I'd been dreaming of," she drawled. She glanced back over her shoulder towards the outer office. "Gertie has closed the front office and left for the day. I think Jackson is gone, too. Are you ready to close up shop?"

Mason stood and stretched. "Yes, I'm done for now. I'll stop and check in with Paul on my way out of the building. I don't imagine he's got anything new, or he would've already called." As he reached for his briefcase, he looked over at his secretary. "I don't feel like going home to wait on developments. How about a good steak dinner?"

"How good?"

"Dinner with all the trimmings, a bottle of good red wine, and enough dancing to make you feel like you've worked off all the calories?" He kept his voice light and casual. Maybe she wouldn't notice that he was holding his breath in anticipation.

"Throw in dessert and you've made a sale."

"Done!" And he drew breath once more.

PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD

The handsome couple drew attention when they twirled around the dance floor. Until now, their presence in the dinner club had attracted little notice, thanks in part to the strategic table choice of the maitre'd. He knew his customers well and knew that one of the best ways to keep them coming back was to make sure that their privacy was respected. In this club there were no glossy autographed portraits of famous patrons gracing the walls.

That was all well and good until Perry Mason and Della Street took to the dance floor. They moved with a simple elegant gracefulness born of long practice and perfect compatibility. Their performance, unintentional as it was, drew stares and quiet comment from a number of the other diners.

Conversation was at a minimum between the two dancers. Their communication was accomplished through touch and gaze. They appeared to need nothing else.

The music changed and the dance slowed somewhat. Mason led Della around the outside of the floor. Della hummed the words softly, her head resting on Perry's shoulder. Just as they reached an edge, necessitating a turn, Perry missed a step. Della glanced up as his arms tensed around her.

"Perry? What's wrong?" she asked, still keeping her voice quiet.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, and relaxed his arms once more, then began to move them back in the direction of their table. Della followed his lead, her face betraying concerned curiosity.

As soon as they were seated, Della leaned in towards him. "What in the world is wrong, Chief? You look like you could spit nails."

Mason smiled at her. "It just caught me off guard. It's too much of a coincidence…" His voice trailed off and his expression became thoughtful.

"What are you talking about?" Della's voice carried a twinge of exasperation.

"Jason Cooper. He was here – watching us."

"Cooper is here?" she began to glance around the room at the other tables, but the dim lighting made any kind of identification impossible. "You filed a lawsuit against him today and he's spending his evening in the same nightclub we chose? You're right – that does seem like too much of a coincidence."

Mason nodded thoughtfully. "There was a woman with him. I suppose it was his wife."

"Bottle blonde with rather harsh posture?" Della asked.

"That's her. Didn't she used to be a brunette?" Della shrugged and he continued, "He seemed to be pointing us out to her." He drained the dregs in the coffee cup sitting at his place. "Well, do we refuse to let it ruin our evening and get back on the dance floor?"

"Or do we go with the 'better part of valor' and head back to the car?" she countered.

Mason grinned. "It's up to you."

"Well…" Della sighed. "As much as I hate to be run out of here," she smiled towards the orchestra, "we might as well go. Tomorrow is going to be a long day and I've got to get to the office early to get some things done. I could use a good night's sleep."

The smile on Mason's face didn't quite erase the shadows in his eyes. It was subtle, but she'd done it again. Della had, in recent months, become an expert at avoiding being alone with him. This dinner date was one the first they'd had in quite some time. And although she seemed perfectly amenable to dining and dancing with him in public, she evidently wouldn't be inviting him up to her apartment later on.

Stifling a sigh, he got to his feet and offered her his arm. "Your chariot awaits, milady."

"Home, James," she replied with a grin.

Mason caught sight of his adversary once more as he waited on the valet and Della made a quick call to the answering service to check messages. Jason Cooper was standing at the bar, in the shadows. Their eyes locked, briefly, and Cooper raised his glass in a mocking salute to the attorney. He didn't notice Susan Cooper approaching him from the side until she was almost at his elbow.

"Perry Mason," she almost spat the words at him.

"Mrs. Cooper, I presume." His voice was carefully neutral.

Her pale blue eyes peered into his. There was something in her stare that was almost animal, something barely controlled. "You are a thief and a murderer. And I don't intend to let you get away with it."

Mason raised an eyebrow, but refused to take the bait.

"My father is dead. You had him locked away in a cage. We'd barely had any time together after his release before he was struck down and killed. I couldn't even be there to hold his hand, or to tell him goodbye before he died. How dare you, Perry Mason? Not only that, but now you're suing us! How are we supposed to live? Why do you have this vendetta against us? What have we ever done to you? Why did you want my father dead?"

"I'm sorry for your loss, – "

"Spare me your insipid sympathies!" She stepped closer and her voice dropped to a menacing hiss. "I don't know how you managed to get your people into our company the way you did, but rest assured, the truth will come to light. You will pay for this. Justice will be done. I promise you that."

"Perry?" Della returned to his side, resting her hand on his arm, her eyes concerned. The valet stepped forward at the same moment to hand Mason the car key. Susan Cooper used the momentary distraction to slip away, lost in the crowd.

Once he'd taken the key, Mason glanced back towards the bar once more. Cooper was gone.

PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD PD

While driving Della home, Perry replayed the confrontation with Susan Cooper in his mind. There was something he felt he'd missed in what she said. The idea that he would want to kill George Simpson was ludicrous, but she evidently believed it. Where did she get the idea?

As he replayed her words once more in his mind, something clicked. 'People'. She's said he got his people into the company. Not just Millicent James, his client, but someone else as well.

Perry drove with one hand on the wheel, the other hand resting on the door. He reached up and rubbed his chin as he tried to puzzle out who Susan Cooper was referring to and why she'd think he'd have motive for killing her father. Rubbing his hand along his jaw and over his chin once more, the stubble pricked his skin. 'One of these days,' he thought, 'I'm going to give up and just grow a damn beard.'

Eventually, Perry stopped the car in front of Della's building. The drive had been virtually silent, both of them lost in thought. Della got out of the car and he followed her to the door. Before she had a chance to say anything, he spoke. "I hope you don't think me rude, but I'm going to leave you to find your way upstairs on your own. You were right – we have to start early in the morning and I could use some extra sleep."

Was it his imagination, or did her shoulders relax perceptibly when he said he wasn't coming up?

Della turned to him, her smile genuine and warm. "I had a wonderful evening, Perry, despite…everything. Thank you."

"All your doing, Miss Street. As usual." He looked into her eyes; finding warmth, affection and some definite barriers. He reached up and caressed her face. His thumb brushed across her cheek and his fingers curled around the back of her neck. There was trepidation in her expression as he leaned in close, but she made no move to stop him.

As his lips touched hers he could feel it – the bolt of energy that passed between them. She felt it too. He could feel her tense slightly at just that moment. The kiss sparked a memory – it flashed across his mind, bright and hot. Normally he would try to repress it, but for now, for just this moment, he let it consume him.

It was the memory of Della, her body, skin to skin with his own. It was as if he could feel her legs tangled with his once more, feel her nails leaving tracks on the skin of his back as their fevered bodies connected and became one.

Moving his arms down around her torso, Perry drew her closer to him as he gave the memory free reign. Then, in a heartbeat, she was pulling away from him – putting up that wall again. But he saw it – there in her eyes as she pulled away. She wanted him too. Just like he wanted her. Then why-?

"It's late, Perry."

He blinked, barely registering her words.

"I should go. Y-you should go." Her voice quavered ever so slightly. He knew she didn't want him to go – not really. But he would.

When they came together again – and they would, he was certain – he wanted her to have no doubts, no reservations.

Next time would be forever.


	6. Chapter 6

Mason's convertible crunched gravel as he pulled it to a stop in front of the small office/shed that bore the sign Cooper Mining Company. He exited and held the door for Della who slid across the seat and hopped out on the driver's side. The door to the building opened and a burly man stood blinking in the afternoon sunlight.

"You must be Mason," he called and held out a hand as he walked towards them.

"I am. And this is my secretary, Miss Street." The man nodded at Della and shook hands with the attorney. "I'm Paul Blanton. I supervise operations out here. Cooper's office called and told me you were coming. Come inside and have a cup of coffee. We can talk in there - it's got an air conditioner." His toothy grin encompassed them both and the trio moved to the office.

Blanton's office was cramped and papers were strewn haphazardly across the desk. There was a couch along one wall. A pillow and the blanket wadded up on the end of the sofa gave the impression that someone was using it for a bed. After both Perry and Della declined Blanton's offer of coffee, he shuffled through the mess on the desk, looking for a map of the mine.

"Well, hell!" He glanced in Della's direction. "Sorry ma'am. I don't know where that durn fool map is. I had it just a while ago, planning to show it to you so you'd get an idea about the scope of the operation here." He flipped through another file. Mason stretched his legs out in front of him and eyed the man carefully. There was a nervousness about the man that immediately put the lawyer on edge. Della sat in the chair next to his and studied her surroundings.

The office had the look and smell of a bunkhouse, Della thought. She glanced at the desktop. Most of the documents appeared to be type-written reports and lines of figures. As her eyes focused, she noticed the corner of a hand-written note. At the top was the name Jason. She couldn't make out much of the writing, but thought she could see the words "Simpson" and "assay reports".

"I tell ya what," Blanton drawled after ineffectively shuffling the detritus on his desk and glancing at the wall clock. "Let's go ahead and take a quick tour through the upper part of the mine. I can show you what we're doing first hand and then when we're done with that, maybe I'll remember what I did with the rest of the paperwork."

"Fine," the lawyer said, getting to his feet. "Do you want to wait here, Della? I'm not sure those shoes would be particularly comfortable -" He was interrupted by Blanton.

"It'll be fine! You won't have to walk far and the ground is pretty level - for the mining carts, ya know. Come on with us, Miss Street. Besides, company regulations won't let me leave anyone other than employees in here alone." He grinned affably again and ushered the two of them out of the office, careful to close the door behind them. "It's not far, but it is a dusty walk - let's take the truck."

The three of them piled into the wide bench seat of Blanton's work truck and he drove them to the mine's entrance. Once they clambered out of the vehicle, the lawyer noticed Blanton looking back up the road, toward the office shack, his expression clouded. Mason followed his gaze, seeing nothing at first, then noticing a cloud of dust growing in the distance. A car, no doubt. When he turned back towards his companions, Blanton was already leading the way into the tunnel.

"Oh!" Della exclaimed as they entered the mine itself. "What a difference."

"You betcha," Blanton said. "Always a good twenty degrees cooler in here. Up top, any way." He threw a lever and electric lights came on overhead, casting a weak glow down a tunnel and illuminating a pair of rails that ran out into the darkness beyond the lights. "Now if you'll follow me - just step on the boards separating the rails and you won't have any problems." He demonstrated how they should follow him. "It's just a few yards down this tunnel and we'll come to the main operations room." He looked Mason in the eye, his voice conveying urgency. "We can talk there. It will be…safer."

The lawyer nodded. "Where are the miners?" Mason asked. "It appears everything is shut down."

"Waitin' on a permit," Blanton said. "Can't start our next phase until that comes through from the state mining commission. So, we're shut down at the moment, which is good, 'cause otherwise I couldn't bring you down here."

Mason nodded and kept his attention trained on Della, reaching for her elbow to steady her as she picked her way along the tunnel floor.

"Are you making it ok, Della?" Mason asked.

She smiled at him. "I'm fine."

Blanton motioned them forward, hurrying them along. "You look like you're game for a little adventure, Miss Street. Don't worry - the ops room is just around this bend. It will be worth a little trouble for you to get to see what's there."

"It certainly sounds interesting," Della said. "What are you going to show us?"

"You'll have to wait and see! Now listen, I'm going to run on up ahead and turn on the lights. You two give me just a second and then follow me. Alright?" Mason nodded and Blanton jogged ahead, then disappeared to the left.

Della turned to speak to Mason, but he motioned her to silence. "I bet this place really echoes," he said, somewhat louder than usual. "Sound probably travels well down these tunnels." Della nodded her understanding.

"I've never been inside a mine before," she said, keeping the conversation innocuous, knowing Blanton might be listening.

They reached the spot where Blanton had disappeared. It was an arch carved into the rock that opened into a short tunnel, about 10 feet long. At the end was an opening bathed in milky light. Mason stepped up next to Della and made his way gingerly down the tunnel, his hand at her elbow. They stepped through the door and both stopped short.

Blanton laughed as the two of them stared around the room, open-mouthed.

"I told ya it'd be worth it!" he exclaimed. "Take yer time and enjoy the scene!"

Della crossed the room to the opposite side where the gold veins running through the walls were the most apparent. All over the room, ore and precious metals glinted in the light. Mason followed her and watched as her gloved fingers touched the wall, following a huge vein of what appeared to be silver as it traced its path across the wall.

"Chief, this is...wow!" Her voice was awed.

"It certainly is amazing," the lawyer agreed. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Is this normal? Are mines usually this beautiful?"

"Not in my experience," Mason replied dryly. Something in his tone caught Della's attention and she looked at him, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Ore doesn't have this sort of polished quality in its natural state. Either this room has been prepared and the ore somewhat finished to impress visitors, or it's been impregnated into the walls to impress inexperienced investors. Which one is the case here, Blanton?" he asked coldly, turning back towards where the other man was standing.

Had been standing. Now he was nowhere to be seen.

"What the devil?" Mason exclaimed and glanced around the shadowy corners, then crossed to the opening of the room and back down the short entry tunnel. Once he reached the opening to the main tunnel, he could see Blanton standing near the entryway.

"Blanton! What's going on?" he demanded, making his way toward the other man.

"Quiet!" Blanton hissed and motioned him away. "Listen!"

The lawyer stopped next to the miner. "I heard a car. Someone is out there," Blanton said quietly.

"So let's go find out who it is," Mason said and started to step around the other man. He had one foot in the open tunnel when a shot rang out, whizzing past his ear. He jumped back into the short hall.

Blanton cursed and crouched down next to Mason. He pulled something from his pants pocket and fished a lighter out of his shirt pocket. He held the flame to the fuse on what Mason could see was a flare.

"You're on your own," Blanton said and threw the flare out towards the entrance. Immediately two shots echoed down the tunnel in response. "Good luck!" he exclaimed and took off running into the depths of the mine.

Mason chanced a glance down the tunnel towards the exit. He saw nothing.

"What's going on?" Della's voice startled him and he ducked back inside, pulling her down next to him as he crouched near the opening.

"Someone is out there with a gun! Blanton took off back into the mine." He chanced another quick glance towards the opening.

"What do we do?"

At that moment, the sound of an engine firing to life traveled down the tunnel towards them. Seconds later, the back of a vehicle could be seen traveling down the road, away from the mine. The tires spun and kicked up so much dirt that any identification of the car or its occupant was impossible. Perry and Della waited silently, listening for any sound of either a shooter remaining outside or of Blanton scurrying away inside. There was nothing.

"Feel like chancing it?" Mason asked his secretary.

"I don't feel like staying in here, that's for sure. This is like being a fish in a barrel."

Mason chuckled and took hold of her arm. Together they made their way towards the exit. A few steps down the tunnel a deep rumble rose up to meet them, seemingly from the very depths of the mine.

Della stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "What was that?"

A sound – a sharp crack – seemed to split the air around them. Mason grabbed her – "Run!" Della whirled and headed for the light, the lawyer on her heels. She ran on her toes, as best she could, in her high heeled shoes. The two of them sprinted down the tunnel towards the light. A cloud of dirt and smoke billowed towards them, overtaking them as they neared the opening. Perry lunged forward and pushed Della with both hands, propelling her forward and down. She hit the ground rolling and made it into the sunlight as he stumbled behind her.

Then the explosion.

Della was blown flat to the ground by the force of the blast, then covered with a thick layer of soot and dirt. As soon as she could get her bearings, she got to her feet and ran back towards the opening.

"Perry! Perry!" she screamed. Tears began pricking at her eyes, and she coughed as she tried to make her way through the billowing smoke and dirt and back into the tunnel. "Where are you?"

Finally she heard a noise and a moment later Mason stumbled out of the opening and into the sunlight. Della ran to him. "Thank God!" She held him tightly. Mason returned the embrace even as he worked to cough the smoke and dirt out of his lungs. "Are you alright?" she asked, releasing her hold a bit. Mason nodded and caught his breath. "I tripped over something as I pushed you out of the opening. Being flat on the ground meant the force of the explosion rolled right over me, I guess." He smiled down at his secretary, who was covered in sand and a fine grey dust from inside the mine. "I think you got blasted worse than I did."

"So it would appear." Della looked down at her clothing in disgust. She removed her suit jacket and began to shake the dirt from it.

Perry Mason surveyed the scene around them. They'd been deserted. He could see a cloud of dust disappearing down the road beyond the mining office, headed back towards town. The entrance to the mine was now completely blocked with debris. "Either the gun shots ricocheted and caused a collapse, or Blanton set off a charge to cave in the tunnel and keep the shooter from pursuing him," he said. He looked at Della. "Either way, he's not coming out anytime soon. Do you want to wait here while I go get the car?" She gestured towards Blanton's dusty pickup. He shook his head. "Blanton has the keys in his pocket."

Della nodded and seated herself on a nearby rock. "I'll be here when you get back."

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Della Street watched his retreating figure until he was out of sight. Perry walked quickly, his step straight and sure, no sign of injury in his gait. The relief she felt at that knowledge amused her somewhat. For some reason he brought out the maternal in her.

Maternal? No, not maternal. That wasn't it at all. Perhaps a little in the beginning, but not for very long and certainly not since… that night.

_Dinner was delivered by the bellboy. The lawyer and his secretary were safe from subpoena across the Mexican border, but Mason still felt it better to stay "under cover" – the phrase he'd laughingly used when he explained they were registered as husband and wife – in a single room. _

_He told her not to worry; he'd be sleeping on the floor. _

_They had drinks with dinner and polished off a bottle of tequila while dancing under the stars on their balcony. Each was a little tipsy when the dancing slowed and Perry pulled her more closely against his body. _

_As it turned out, he lied. He didn't sleep on the floor._

The memory sent a shudder through Della's body. She shook her head, trying to break free from the images flooding her mind – the feel of his hands, the way he kissed her over and over, all over.

It had been a mistake, she told herself. They were drunk, and things got out of control. It didn't mean anything. They were past it, and things were ok between them now. And she'd sworn off the tequila.

Della had to admit, however, she'd not been nearly as high as she'd let on. She knew what was happening, what they were doing. The alcohol was just a convenient excuse.

Looking back, she remembered…and wondered. Perry might have been a bit toasted to start with, but he didn't make love like a drunken man. Not at all. Perhaps…?

_The water trickled out of the shower-head. The pipes made a lot of noise, but they delivered precious little liquid. She'd spent several minutes trying to get the shampoo out of her hair. _

_Even without much sleep the night before, Della was unable to rest and awoke early the next morning. She'd watched Perry with more than a little jealousy as he slept soundly next to her. Finally she slid out from under the sheets and headed for the bathroom and a hot shower. _

_Still covered in soap and trying to sluice it off her skin with little help from the shower itself, she heard a knock at the door. A smile broke over her features, but the sound of his voice wiped it away just as quickly._

"_Della?" he called, tentatively. "Paul just called. They found Sims. I'm leaving – I have to get to Yuma ahead of the police to meet with him. Will you be ok? I'm sending Paul to pick you up and take you back to Los Angeles this afternoon. Once I get Sims story, Tragg's subpoena will be worthless."_

_She leaned back on the tiles of the shower wall. 'Paul? He was leaving and sending Paul?' Aloud, she said, "Yes, go. I'll see you at the office later."_

"_Alright," he said, speaking loudly enough to be heard through the bathroom door and over the sounds of the cranky water pipes. "I, uh, last night, was – we…"_

_She couldn't stand it. It was one thing to know he regretted what happened. It was another to hear him say it. "Go, Perry. You don't have much time. Don't let Sims get away."_

"_Alright. I'll call you as soon as I can." Was that relief she heard in his voice? She couldn't be sure. _

_With that he was gone.  
><em>  
>Della sighed and watched the toe of her shoe drawing patterns in the sand. That was it. They'd never spoken of that night or what happened between them. It was another two days before Mason made it back to Los Angeles. As soon as they dealt with the Sims case, another took its place and life eventually returned to normal.<p>

Normal? Not entirely. She had been different. She had to keep her distance. She couldn't allow the old camaraderie to take over entirely. It was too painful. She knew she had to be on guard with him if she didn't want to drive him away.

It hurt too much to be too close to him. But the thought of losing that closeness hurt even more.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Eventually Perry returned with the car, and took her back to the mine's office. There they waited for the local sheriff to arrive and take their statements. It was almost sunset when they were given leave to return to Los Angeles. Local authorities were beginning a search for Paul Blanton, with little hope of finding him. The collapse had done a very effective job of sealing off the Cooper mine.

Mason's heavy car made quiet work of the miles of blacktop between the desert and the city. Both of the car's occupants had been silent for some time, each lost in their own private thoughts. Finally, seeing a wide spot on the shoulder, Perry Mason pulled over, angling the car to the west where the sun's final dip below the horizon left behind a brilliantly painted sky.

Della looked at him questioningly as he wrenched his door open and walked away from the car. He stood at the edge of the road, his back to her, eyes fixed on the horizon. The breeze stirred his hair. Hands stuffed in his pockets and feet planted solidly, he watched the skyline. Della watched him – wide shoulders, slim waist, dark hair beginning to melt into the darkness that followed the sunset.

Silently she opened her door and stepped out of the car. He didn't turn, but wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she came to stand next to him. Neither spoke for a long moment.

Della finally broke the silence. "What are you thinking?" she asked quietly.

Mason tightened his grip on her briefly. "I'm thinking about us - what a strange pair we are." He smiled down at her, his eyes caressing her features, rather than settling into her gaze.

"What do you mean - strange?"

He didn't answer at first; instead he looked across the landscape and seemed focused on the horizon, his thoughts miles away. After a moment he turned back to Della. "You and I...we share so much, and yet so little." He reached up and caressed her face. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

She met his thoughtful gaze with quizzical eyes.

"I should have swept you off your feet a long time ago," he told her, a small smile curling the corners of his lips. "Why did I let this…this distance grow between us?"

Della smiled, almost shyly. She glanced away briefly, then look up at him again. "It's not like we're having a major love affair or anything," she said. "I guess we don't feel the need to push each other into some kind of formal relationship. We just..." her voice trailed off as she searched for words.

"We just keep things simmering between us - no commitment, no obligation." His words sounded frustrated. Della started to protest, but he cut her off. "We almost never let things get out of control - except for the time we were holed up in that hotel in Mexico, hiding out from Tragg." Mason sighed. "My God, I loved making love to you. Yet, when we came back, and the case was over, things went right back to the way they'd always been. Why? What are we hiding from?"

Della looked at him incredulously. "We've just nearly been killed. We barely escaped. And this is what you're thinking about? Sex?"

"Love," Mason countered. "I love you, do you know that? I could've lost you this afternoon, Della. Ever since then all I could think about is the fact that I am completely in love with you, yet I've never told you. I fight so hard to keep my feelings buried and out of the way. And for what?" He shook his head ruefully. "I'm not wasting any more time worrying about propriety or whatever it is that is standing between us." He took her face in his hands. "I love you, Della. Stay with me tonight?" His gaze pierced her, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," she said softly. She dropped her eyes and color rose in her cheeks. "I know we should have talked about what happened in Mexico, but I just didn't know how. I didn't want things to change between us." Their eyes met again. "Being with you was wonderful, exciting. But then you-," she hesitated a beat before continuing. "As good as it was, I didn't - I don't - know how things would change if we were lovers." She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest. His arms held her tightly.

They stood there, ignoring the sunset, for a long moment. At last she took a deep breath and he could feel the tremor that ran through her. "I was so scared, Perry. When that explosion knocked me down, I saw you engulfed in the smoke and I thought...you..." her voice cracked with emotion.

He didn't speak, but held her tighter, his face buried in her hair. Then he abruptly pushed her off of him and turned away.

"Perry? What -?"

Mason sneezed violently. Twice.

He grinned apologetically from behind his handkerchief. "Sorry. Dust in your hair..." He sneezed a third time.

Della chuckled and ran her hands through her hair. "I know. I feel gritty all over. I really need to go home and take a shower."

"No." He looked down into her face. "Please stay with me, Della. Good Lord, you're worse than I am!" He gripped her shoulders and held her firmly in place. "I love you, Della. We're both adults. You're coming home with me. Use my damn shower, woman. I've got a robe you can wear. If you must wear anything, that is. Just stay. Please."

Della bit her lip and glanced towards the car.

"Don't run away from me," he said softly.

Della closed her eyes for a moment, evidently debating with herself. Eventually she took a deep breath and raised her hands in surrender. "I give up. Take me home with you."

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Perry put through a call to Paul Drake while Della was in the shower. The police hadn't found Blanton, and there was no evidence as to the identity of the shooter. He also reported that Millicent James was safely ensconced in her apartment, apparently for the night. "There's not anything more to be done tonight, Perry. Take Della out to dinner and then go home and get some sleep," the detective suggested. "Or better yet, go home with Della and don't get any sleep!" Drake laughed as he hung up the phone.

Mason grinned and dropped the receiver into its cradle. The shower stopped running. He went into the kitchen and stuck his head into the refrigerator. No champagne and strawberries were to be had, but there was a more than passable bottle of wine chilling inside and a package of sliced French cheese left over from his last trip to the market. That would have to do. He opened the bottle, took a couple of glasses out of the cabinet and tried arranging the cheese on a small plate. Satisfied with his efforts, he put everything on a tray and carried it into the living room.

The bedroom door opened as he entered the room. Della entered, running her hands through her still damp curls. The belt of his heavy terry cloth robe was cinched tightly at her waist.

"Hungry?" he asked. Before she could answer, he said, "I hope not. I really don't have much food here. How do you feel about cheese?"

"I'm generally in favor of it," was her dry reply as she reached for a glass. He filled it with a flourish that earned him a smile. He returned the bottle to the tray.

"Did you leave me any hot water?" he asked.

"Some."

"Then eat something. I'll go get cleaned up."

She nodded and watched him leave the room. Once the door closed behind him, she took a piece of cheese and wandered around the apartment. Perry's taste in art and décor were decidedly more modern than her own. After studying the paintings in the living room for several minutes, she moved into the bedroom. A series of framed landscape sketches caught her attention and she didn't notice that the shower had been shut off. When the bathroom door opened, she turned with a start.

Perry Mason entered the room in a cloud of scented steam. He wore nothing but a towel, knotted loosely at the waist. Della's eyes traveled over the wide expanse of his chest. She tried to control the flush that she felt rising from her neck up to her cheeks. Raising her wine glass, she drank deeply as a means of covering her sudden speechlessness.

Mason's surprise at finding her in the bedroom quickly melted into an impish grin. "You've got my robe," he said. "Wanna trade?" he offered, hand on the knot of the towel.

Della shook her head and set her wineglass on the bedside table. She turned back towards him, still keeping her eyes diverted. "I, um…," she faltered. "You look…cold."

He closed the distance between them in swift steps. Strong arms circled her waist and he pulled her to his chest. "So why don't you help me warm up?" Fingers splayed across the planes of his chest, she kept a slight space between their bodies. Sensing the hesitation, he loosened his hold. "Are you ok, Della?"

She nodded, took a deep breath, and looked up at him. "I'm just a little overwhelmed, I guess." She paused and he waited patiently for her to continue. "I mean, this is… There's no going back, is there?"

Gravely, Perry shook his head. Then he released her, took hold of her hand and drew her over to sit on the edge of the bed. As he settled himself next to her, her eyes locked involuntarily on his thigh muscle which flexed in the space where the two ends of the towel fell apart.

Resting his hand gently on her shoulder, he twisted slightly towards her, trying to look into her eyes. The towel parted further and she could see the strong line of his outer thigh as it curved up to meet his hip.

His voice was gentle, but firm. "Della, if you're…"

She reached for him.

"…not sure about this,"

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down to her.

"…we don't have to—"

He never finished the sentence.


	7. Chapter 7

With a long, lingering moan of complete satisfaction, Perry Mason dropped his head to rest between Della's breasts. He lay there, breathing deeply, for several minutes. Della's reached up and twisted his silky hair between her fingers. Fresh from being washed and bereft of any pomade, the luxurious waves were more pronounced. She toyed with him contentedly, her eyes closed, her breathing matching the rhythm of his.

He said something. She'd been half asleep and couldn't make out the words.

"Hmm?" she asked.

"What went wrong in Mexico?" he repeated. "What did I do wrong?"

Della sighed. "Oh, Perry, it doesn't really matter now, does it?"

He lifted his head and stared intently into her eyes. "It matters more than ever. I need you, Della. I couldn't stand it if you pulled away from me again like you did after that night."

Della pushed herself up on her elbows, eyes suddenly flashing. "You need me? That's just it, Perry! You need me on your terms. You need me when it suits you. You need me when you're bored and don't have anything better to do. That was abundantly clear when you took off the next morning with barely a good-bye." Anger she didn't even know she'd buried rose to the surface. "I half expected to find you'd left some cash on the nightstand!"

He stared, open-mouthed, seemingly searching for words. "Della, I – I am so sorry. I never meant…" He reached for her but she pulled away.

She grasped the edge of the sheet, pulling it tight across her chest. "That morning, when you left, did you think we'd made a mistake?" she asked.

"A mistake?" He was incredulous. "Good God, Della! It was the most incredible night I'd ever spent with a woman in my life! How could that be a mistake?"

She arched an eyebrow at him, anger flashing in her eyes once again. "And yet the only words you spoke to me the next morning were 'See ya, babe. I'll send a car for you later.'"

Denial was hot on his lips but the look in her eyes stopped him. He thought back, replaying the events in his mind.

"Damn!" he moaned and rolled away from her, onto his back. He pressed his eyes shut and drove the heel of his hand into his forehead. "Damn!" he repeated.

Della, propped on an elbow, still holding the sheet, glared down at him. "Yes. 'Damn'," she said. "What was I supposed to think, after that?"

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "You should think that sometimes I am a complete idiot, but that doesn't mean I don't love you." He grinned and rolled back over so he lay on his side next to her. "Will you give me a chance to make it up to you?"

The sheet fell away from her breasts as she dropped back on the pillows. She reached across her body to grasp the hair at the back of his head. When she looked at him, he felt immense relief at the mischief he saw in her eyes. She cocked an eyebrow at him and spoke with a slow, sultry cadence. "I think you should start making it up to me right now."

With that she pushed his head further down the bed.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

The morning sun had been streaming through the opening between the shade and the window sill in Perry Mason's bedroom for quite a while before Della Street began to stir. She was lying halfway across her lover, her head on his chest and arms curled around his upper body. She could feel his heart-beat pounding beneath her cheek.

The lawyer had been awake for a while, content with watching the woman sleeping in his arms. He stroked her back softly - slow, languid strokes that prompted her to squirm slightly against him - something he found to be a very pleasant sensation indeed. Finally she drew in a deep breath and he could feel her eyelashes flutter against the skin of his chest as she opened her eyes.

Still resting against him, she reached up and rubbed one eye with the heel of her hand. As she did, Mason continued stroking her back, but now moved his hands lower, following the curve of her bottom, resting on the back of her thigh and then retracing the path up to her shoulder.

She moaned softly and finally looked up at him. He grinned down at her and pinched her playfully.

"Ow!"

Mason chuckled. "Just wanted to make sure this wasn't just a dream."

"Then pinch your_self_, not me!" she said, slapping his chest lightly. "What time is it?"

He glanced at the clock. "You don't want to know."

"That late?" She sighed and rolled away from him, gathering a sheet around her as she did. "You've got an appointment with Judge Keaton this morning and I've got to get the Anderson brief filed."

Mason made a grab for the sheet just as she caught sight of the clock, herself. "Good Lord, Perry! It's almost nine! You know what Gertie's going to think with both of us showing up late."

"She'll think we overslept after spending a night making wild, passionate love?" Mason asked, his expression overly innocent.

"Exactly!" she shot back, and then disappeared through the bathroom door. Mason stared after her for a long moment, a huge smile on his face.

The smile faded later when Della insisted on taking a cab from his apartment. She didn't want the two of them to be seen arriving late together. Although most of the dust and debris had been brushed off the suit she wore the day before, she still wanted to change clothes before going to work so she would stop at her apartment before going in to the office.

Besides, she pointed out, Perry needed to go to his meeting with Judge Keaton before going to the office or risk being late. He sighed, but a quick glance at his wristwatch told him she was right. About the Judge's appointment, anyway.

Just as he was beginning to think her haste in leaving him was indicative of her doubts about what had happened the night before, she took hold of his lapels and pulled him towards her. Her lips felt hot against his, exactly as they had the night before. The kiss, deep and lingering, took his breath away as she read his mind and whispered in his ear, "No regrets." And then she pulled away and was gone.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Paul Drake was sprawled across the client's chair chatting with Della Street when Perry finally arrived at his office.

"Della's been filling me in on the details of your adventures," Paul told him.

Perry glanced at his secretary in surprise. Her face flushed slightly. "At the mine site," she said hastily.

He cleared his throat. "Not much to tell. We didn't get a chance to question Blanton before someone showed up and started shooting at him. And us."

Paul's face never lost its expression of bored disinterest, but his eyes flashed back and forth between his companions, noting the oddities in their manner with each other. He dropped his head to hide his smile and swung around in the chair so that he was sitting in a more or less normal position. "So what now? The searchers haven't gotten through the cave-in. They've got an engineer looking at it, but they think the whole place is too unstable to try to blast through at this point."

"Any chance he escaped through another tunnel?" Mason asked.

"Always a chance, I suppose, but the plans they've found don't indicate any other exits. It's not a large mine. They haven't been drilling there long enough to make another exit."

"He saw something," the lawyer said. "He was there the night of the murder and he had to have seen something. And someone wanted to shut him up."

"You can't be sure," Drake countered.

"Maybe not, but it's the only explanation that makes any sense."

Drake shrugged. "Here's some more grist for the mill. Jason Cooper, Susan Cooper and your client are all three unaccounted for yesterday afternoon. I had a man on Mr. Cooper, but he never saw him leave the office after lunch. When five o'clock rolled around and there was no sign of him, he checked the garage. Cooper's car was there, but no sign of the man. He finally picked up the trail again later that evening at Cooper's house."

"And the Mrs.?" Mason asked. "I don't remember telling you to have her shadowed."

"You didn't. But when my man was looking for Cooper earlier in the day, he struck up an acquaintance with their cook. She likes to talk. Seems she's got no love loss for the woman and is just biding her time until another position opens up somewhere else. She was complaining because Mrs. Cooper had left specific demands for the noon meal, necessitating an extra trip to the butcher, and then never showed up to eat. When I heard that, I called her office. She hadn't been in all afternoon."

"And Millicent James?"

"She's mostly been holed up in her apartment for the past few days. She's had a couple of friends over, but that's about it. Then, yesterday afternoon or evening, one of her buddies shows up and rings for her. No answer. My man checked for himself as soon as the coast was clear. The apartment was empty. She came in about 8:00 p.m. with a couple of bags. My man took the elevator with her and had a quick conversation with her. She mentioned she'd been out shopping."

Mason rolled his eyes. "Well, hopefully Tragg will figure my client wasn't trying to kill her own attorney. The Coopers are another story. Keep on it, Paul. We need to run down where they were yesterday."

"Well," the detective drawled, getting to his feet, "I'll keep an ear to the ground. Let me know if there is anything else you want me to do."

Mason nodded, his expression thoughtful. He was staring out past the balcony to the skyline beyond. Drake slipped through the corridor door and closed it quietly behind him.

A knock at the door a few minutes later brought his thoughts back to the office. Not waiting for an answer, Della slipped inside, bringing the morning mail with her. Perry sighed and picked up a pen.

"Don't look so put out," Della said, smiling. "There's something on the top that might interest you."

The lawyer picked up the small envelope. It was formal, rather than legal size. He pulled out the card inside, and skimmed its contents. "I'm sure there is some sort of a reason this is supposed to interest me," he said. "But a charity fundraiser, even for a good cause like," - he glanced at the name on the envelope - "Gideon's Purse, is a little out of my line right now."

"Well, then, what if I told you Gideon's Purse is the charity that Susan Cooper is currently president of. And if you'll notice the return address on the front of the envelope, they've taken offices in the building across the street. Which means…"

"Which means," he said, picking up the conversational thread, "that Mrs. Cooper would be easily available for questioning." He grinned at his secretary. "You bet I'm interested!"

"My mother always said betting was a sin," she replied, her voice grave but her eyes mischievous.

"What did your mother have to say about sleeping with the boss?" he teased.

Della rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't know. She never made it past 'don't go riding in cars with boys'."

Mason laughed loudly. His mirth masked the sound of the door opening and neither of them realized they had an audience.

"Looks like I just missed the punch line."

Lawyer and secretary turned towards the speaker - Lt. Arthur Tragg of the homicide division. He was accompanied by Steve Burton, the sheriff's deputy who'd questioned them following the mine explosion the day before.

The lawyer rose to shake hands. "Deputy Burton," he said. "Tragg."

Lt. Burton seated himself across from Perry, while Lt. Tragg addressed the lawyer's secretary. "I had to come see for myself, Miss Street. I couldn't believe someone finally had the guts to try to take this guy down." He gestured towards the lawyer and grinned. "I trust you've suffered no ill-effects from the explosion?"

"Fit as a fiddle, Lieutenant," she said as she seated herself next to the lawyer's desk.

"That goes without saying. Are you sure you want to continue to hang out with this big lug? He could be hazardous to your health."

Della cut her eyes towards Perry briefly, then smiled at the Lieutenant. "It does have its benefits, Lieutenant."

"Benefits?" Tragg asked, a wicked grin on his face as he kept his eyes locked on Mason's face. Della arched an eyebrow and continued, "Combat pay, Lieutenant. If people keep trying to kill us, I should have enough saved for a vacation home in the mountains in another six months." Her grin matched Tragg's.

Mason cleared his throat. "Thanks so much for your concern, Arthur," he said, drily. "Now, what can we do for you?"

At Tragg's request Perry and Della recounted the story of their visit to the mine and the explosion. Lt. Burton assured them that the authorities were doing everything it could to locate Blanton and bring him in. Jason Cooper was under investigation as well, but he'd been fully cooperative and there was no evidence that he had anything to do with the attempt on the lawyer and secretary. Once the questions had all been asked and answered, Della showed the two men out of the office and returned to find Perry putting on his hat.

"I'm going across the street. I want to talk to Susan Cooper."

"Have fun," she said breezily. "I'll go get some iodine and gauze."

"What for?" he asked, half-way out the door.

"The scratches you'll have on your face when you get back."

"Not a bad idea," he replied, chuckling as he closed the door behind him.

PDPDPDPDPDPDP

"You and I have nothing to discuss," Susan Cooper said coldly. Perry Mason had conned the receptionist into letting him into the president's office without an appointment.

"You're not interested in bringing your father's killer to justice?"

"Of course I am!" was the tart reply. "But we both know helping you is not going to bring me any sort of justice."

"Tell me about your father," Mason said, settling in the seat across the desk from her. "What did he do after his release from prison?"

"He gardened."

"I understand that he spent some time down at your husband's office."

"He didn't have a lot to do. Prison left him a broken man and there wasn't a lot he could do," she said. "My father had been a powerful and ruthless businessman at one time. After prison he was tired and uninterested in doing any actual work. I suppose he just missed the excitement of the business. Sometimes he would visit the office and talk to the few employees left over from the old days."

"So he didn't actually do any work there?" the lawyer queried.

"No. Jason let him have an office more out of courtesy than anything else. He would read over some of the reports and give a little input, but it was nothing official."

"How well do you know Paul Blanton?"

"Not very well," she said stiffly. "He works for Jason. I think he runs the mining operation. That's all _I_ know. You're asking me questions that you obviously already know the answers to." She got to her feet. "I've given you all the time I intend to Mr. Mason. Don't bother to come back. The staff will have strict instructions not to admit you again."

The lawyer got to his feet. "Where was your husband yesterday afternoon?"

She smiled coldly. "I said I was finished answering questions, Mr. Mason. Anything else you want to ask will require a subpoena."

"You can count on receiving such a summons, Mrs. Cooper. And you'd better clear your schedule for the day of court. You and I will be having a lengthy conversation at that time."

The anger that had been contained in her eyes spread over her face. "Get out!" she exclaimed, her voice harsh. "Get out of here and leave me alone, you damned shyster!"

Mason gave her a small bow and left.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

When he returned to his office, Mason set Jackson to work on looking through all the recent contracts filed by the Cooper Capital Investment Company.

"George Simpson was just a figure head, but he did review the contracts, at least some of them, when he was at the office," the lawyer said. "I want to find out if there is anything out of the ordinary that he would have stumbled across. Something that would make him want to investigate further."

It was just the sort of assignment that the beetle-browed law clerk excelled at. Perry Mason had no doubt that if there was anything to find, Jackson would find it. Freed of the responsibility of what he considered to be tedious, albeit important, work, Perry turned his mind to other matters. Della stuck her head in to tell him she was leaving at 5:00. She had a few errands to run and a late appointment with her hair dresser. Perry glanced up from his law book. "Will I see you later?" he asked.

"Probably not," she said with a smile. "I have a lot of things to do. But," she added, seeing the disappointment on his face, "you can always call me later. If I get everything done early, I might be bored later this evening."


	8. Chapter 8

"You're sure you don't mind? I could-." Perry Mason listened for a moment. "That would be great. I'll see you then." He was smiling when he hung up the phone. Della finished her errands early and had accepted his offer of a late supper. Granted, he'd asked her to bring a couple of files he wanted to work on, but that was just pretense. He would open a bottle of wine, light a fire... His smile broadened into a grin.

The suit coat and tie had long been discarded, but he unfastened another button on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves as he made his way into the kitchen to pick out the wine. He pondered whether or not to put out cheese and crackers to snack on or whether to just wait until the delivery boy arrived with the sandwiches he'd ordered from the deli downstairs.

There was a knock at the door. He popped a cracker into his mouth and glanced at his watch. How had the delivery arrived so quickly? He opened the door with that question on his lips.

Millicent James stood in the doorway. She was evidently crying.

"Miss James! What's the matter?"

"Oh, Perry!" she exclaimed and threw herself into his arms. "I - I need your help."

He drew her into the room and closed the door. The visitor buried her face in his chest, shuddering violently against his body. Frustration flashed across his features as he began to unwind her arms from his torso. "What's going on?" he demanded.

"I'm so scared, and-and y-you are the only one I can turn to," she said. "You make me feel so safe and I'm not afraid when I'm with you, Perry."

"Then stop crying and tell me what's going on," he said gruffly.

"Someone is following me, I'm almost sure of it. It has to be Jason Cooper, or someone he hired." The tears had ceased. "I didn't know what else to do, so I came here. I know it's late, but I was sure you wouldn't mind." She looked up at him, her face a picture of innocence.

Mason looked at her directly and her gaze dropped before his scrutiny. "Why would Cooper follow you at this point? Are you doing something you're not telling me?"

"Of course not! I've followed your advice explicitly. That's why I hired you in the first place - I knew I could trust you. In fact, it was that trust that brought me here. I knew you'd know just what to do." She stopped and drew a breath. "Although," her voice took on a coquettish tone, "I must say I'm surprised to find you at home, alone. All work and no play, eh, Perry?" She took a step towards him, as if planning to wrap her arms around him once more.

Mason sidestepped her. "You think someone followed you here?"

"I'm all but sure of it," she breathed.

Mason nodded. "Sit down," he demanded, pointing at the chair closest to the door. Millicent did as she was told and played at pulling the hem of her skirt down over her knees, without really succeeding in moving it. Mason picked up the phone and dialed the night number for the Drake Detective Agency. The night operator connected him to Paul Drake who'd just come in following dinner to collect his messages.

"I need you to shadow a shadow, Paul." Mason explained the situation and that he wanted Miss James followed by Drake's men when she left the apartment, hopefully to discover who else was on the job. "How long will it take to get someone in place?"

Paul chuckled into the phone. "I'm guessing she caught on to the shadow you had me put on her. She must be where she can hear this conversation, right?"

"That's right," Perry said.

"I'll head over there now. I'll leave word for one of the guys to relieve me as soon as I can," Paul said. "We'll shadow ourselves for a while."

"Great. I'll send her down in 15 minutes. You know her by sight?"

Paul indicated that he did and the connection was broken. Mason hung up the phone and glanced at his watch, noting the time Miss James would leave. It didn't escape his notice that Della should be arriving at any minute.

"I don't know if I like the idea of going back out there alone, Perry," Millicent said.

"You won't be alone," Mason was quick to assure her. "The best detective in the business is going to trail you and make sure you stay safe. Just go on about your daily business."

"Why don't you come with me? I was headed out to dinner..." She stopped when a knock sounded on the door.

Mason reached it in two long strides and threw it open. He grabbed Della Street's arm and all but dragged her inside. "Hello, Miss Street! I'm so glad you made it. I really need those files."

Della raised an eyebrow in surprise, then looked past him to the blonde in the chair. Barely missing a beat, she held up the briefcase she'd brought with her. "Have them right here, Chief. We can't afford to waste time – these documents have to be finished and filed before the court convenes in the morning. Do you have a table where I can set up a portable typewriter?"

Mason cleared his throat and indicated Millicent James, who'd watched the little scene with undisguised interest. "Miss James was having a bit of trouble and stopped by to see if I could help."

"Very wise," she said, apparently just noticing the other woman in the apartment. Della's gaze wasn't altogether friendly. "That's what lawyers are for, after all."

"Perry is more than just a lawyer," Millicent purred. She sidestepped Della, who made her way to the low cocktail table in the middle of the living room. As Della opened her briefcase and began laying out the files that Mason had requested, Millicent attached herself once more to Mason's arm. "You're more of a knight in shining armor, Perry," she said, gazing up at him.

Mason took a deep breath and chanced a glance over his client's head to connect with the eyes of his secretary. Arms crossed, and eyebrows raised in silent challenge, Della couldn't completely hide her amusement at his predicament. It was also obvious that she had no intention of helping him out of it.

He disengaged himself from Millicent's grasp and crossed to the window. "I see Paul Drake's car just pulling up to the curb." He turned back towards the room. "You will be fine now, Miss James. Just go about your normal business and he will be following along behind. He'll get a line on anyone else who's interested in your activities."

Millicent James hesitated perceptibly and pressed her hand to her chest. "Are...are you certain it's safe?"

"Positive," Mason said dryly.

Della seated herself on the couch, crossed her legs and eyed their client carefully.

"I have to trust you, don't I?" Millicent smiled warmly at the lawyer. "I know you'd never allow me to be in any danger, Perry. That's why I first came to you, you know. Everyone says that when you take on a case, a client, you would go to your grave to protect them."

Mason ignored the comment as he crossed the room to the door. He held it open. "Good luck, Miss James. Please don't hesitate to call if you have any more trouble." She did not appear to catch the slight emphasis he placed on the word 'call'.

Millicent James took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and walked through the door, trailing her fingers across Mason's chest as she passed next to him. "I know you mean that, Perry. If there are any problems, you'll be the first to know." Perry smiled weakly and shut the door. He turned towards Della.

Silence hung between them for several moments before Della burst out laughing. "Oh, Chief," she said at last. "I knew she had a bit of a crush on you, but, wow!"

Mason crossed his arms and glared at her. "A fat lot of help you were!"

"What did you expect me to do - grab her by the hair and toss her down the stairs?" Della grinned at him.

"I was hoping more for throwing yourself into my arms and kissing me senseless," he said.

Della slowly uncrossed her legs and rose from the sofa. Mason uncrossed his arms and reached out for her. She stepped into his embrace as he lowered his head to hers. The lawyer moaned softly as he captured her lips with his. Della's arms snaked up around his neck and she pulled him closer. Long moments passed in near silence.

Eventually, Della pulled back slightly and asked, "Senseless yet?"

"Completely. I think I may faint," he growled.

"Well, then," she said and patted his cheek lightly. "We should get to work."

"Della, you know I didn't call you over here just to work, don't you?" He ran his hands seductively down her sides and over her hips. She clasped his hands in hers and brought them away from her body.

"I know." She took a breath. "So why don't we get busy and get the work out of the way, then maybe we can discuss whatever else it was that you had in mind?"

"Slave driver!" he charged. She arched an eyebrow in reply and indicated the files laid out on the table.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Hours later, the only sounds in the room were the log crackling in the fireplace and the heavy, even breathing of Perry Mason as he slept on his side, stretched out on the floor in front of the hearth. His arm circled Della's waist. She lay along side him, head resting in the crook of his other arm. Sparks that fell from the burning log reflected in her eyes. The log burned through and fell in two pieces to the floor of the firebox.

She should have been completely relaxed. They'd had a simple but wonderful dinner. The wine had been a perfect compliment and left her feeling warm and pliable. What started out as gentle exploratory kisses quickly flared into something more passionate. They didn't even manage to make it to the bedroom, but instead pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and settled onto the floor where they still lay, legs tangled together. She smiled and snuggled more closely to him, luxuriating in the feel of his naked body alongside her own. His arm tightened around her momentarily, then his breathing evened out once more.

Della turned her eyes back to the fire. Her expression became thoughtful.

She started slightly when he pressed his lips onto the top of her head. "What are you thinking about?" he whispered. He shifted behind her and began to kiss a trail from the back of her ear, down her neck.

"Millicent James," she answered.

His mouth abruptly stopped its exploration of the soft skin on her shoulder. "You really are worse than I am, Della." He chuckled softly. "Why," he asked as his fingertips grazed the side of her breast and then moved down her side to her hip, "are you thinking about her? At a time like this?"

Della sighed and turned towards him. "She worries me."

"You can't be serious. I don't even know how she got my address, Della and I certainly didn't..."

She laughed. "I'm not jealous, Perry!" Her expression turned more serious. "There's just something about her that doesn't ring true."

Mason gazed at her thoughtfully. "That's not surprising. How often do our clients tell us the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"

She shrugged. "This is different."

"Feminine intuition?" he asked, smiling.

"No. Well, yes, I guess." Della bit the inside of her bottom lip and looked down at his chest, trailing her fingernails over the muscles of his abdomen, causing him to pull her closer. "There's just something...off about her. She's not the first client to fall for you," she gave him a wicked smile and tweaked his nipple. He yelped and rolled over on top of her, stifling her movements. She giggled and pushed at his chest. He lifted his body slightly so she could breathe. "Not the first," she repeated, "but definitely the most odd."

Mason lay back on his side and looked at her seriously. "You're right, as usual. I'm going to keep her under surveillance for a few more days. Just to see what Paul can come up with. I can't afford to take any chances in this case."

"Good idea," Della replied. She kissed the spot she'd pinched moments before.

"I have another good idea," he said, pulling her body against his. His mouth claimed hers and her body fused with his. The dying light of the fire covered the lovers in a warm glow as they danced together once more.


	9. Chapter 9

"I think I've found something, sir," Jackson stated solemnly, seating himself in the across from Perry Mason's massive desk. "Now this is entirely preliminary and I hesitate to make any sort of report without first obtaining independent verification of all the facts. However, you were quite pointed in your desire for haste in completing this assignment and so I hope that you will be cognizant of the fact that my information may be -."

"What do you have? Spill it!" the other lawyer commanded.

"Well, I seem to have found a pattern." Jackson sat back in the chair, pushing up his glasses and waiting patiently.

Mason sighed. "I don't want to put this out of you a piece at a time, Jackson. What are you talking about?"

"The Coyote Mine is not the only questionable investment scheme being perpetrated by the Cooper Capital Investment Corporation."

"No? What else is going on?" Mason leaned forward in his chair and eyed the smaller man intently.

Jackson squirmed slightly. Perry Mason tended to make him want to turn tail and run. The man was altogether too reliant on the intangibles. Jackson believed in research - cold, hard research to verify that his choices could stand the greater scrutiny of the courts. Mason believed in charting new courses and creating precedents, rather than living by them.

"Well it seems that the majority of the larger investments the company manages are proving difficult to chart. Their boards of directors are almost totally peopled with Cooper's staff and the hard assets are virtually untraceable."

"So Cooper is running a series of scams? What kind of money are we talking?"

"I don't have anything close to an exact figure," he hesitated, but saw the impatience in his employer's expression. "I'd say several hundred thousand – possibly as much as one or two million."

Mason whistled. "What can you prove?"

"Nothing so far. But I've found some fairly compelling paper trails. I thought perhaps the best course of action at this point is to turn everything over to the Securities and Exchange Commission and see what they are willing to do with the information."

Perry Mason sat back in his chair. After a moment's thought he said, "I think you're right, Jackson. Put together a report of your findings and contact the SEC. We'll let them be the bulldogs on this one."

Jackson nodded and got to his feet. "There is one other thing, and this might need to be handled by the District Attorney, rather than a civic authority."

"The D.A.? Well? Spit it out!" Mason was on his feet, leaning on his hands, spread flat on his desk's surface.

"It's their charity work." Jackson looked grim, in a milquetoast fashion. "I think you could make a strong case that Mr. and Mrs. Cooper are funneling money directly from their charity work into their personal accounts. What's odd is that this bit of fraud is almost amateurish compared to the other schemes Cooper's company is perpetrating."

Mason stared at his clerk for a long moment. "The charity. _Mrs._ Cooper's charity." His voice was distant, almost distracted.

"Yes, I believe she is the president," Jackson said, opening a file to consult his notes. "She and Mr. Cooper are hosting fund raising event for the charity this weekend."

"Yes they are," Mason replied, rounding the desk and grabbing for his hat. "Tell Della I'm going to get Paul and then he and I are going places."

"Yes sir," Jackson said as the lawyer sailed out the door.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Paul Drake drummed his fingers somewhat nervously on the steering wheel. He waited outside, parked next to a fireplug, as Perry Mason called his secretary from a pay phone inside. Checking the rearview for the third time in the past minute, he replayed the afternoon's events in his head.

He couldn't help but chuckle.

Perry had been in rare form. When they arrived at the Cooper mansion, Jason Cooper had greeted them with an oily, smarmy good will. That lasted a very few minutes before turning into flustered rage. Mason confronted the financier with the financial dirt Jackson had been able to dig up on the firm. Even the information that Jackson considered to be woefully incomplete was more than enough to get a rise out of Cooper.

"_George Simpson found out what you were doing. And this time he wasn't going to let you get away with it," Mason charged. "He didn't want you dragging his daughter into your criminal activities!"_

"_That's a lie!" Cooper was almost sputtering. "How dare you make such unfounded accusations! You have nothing to back them up!"_

"_That's where you're wrong, Cooper. What I want to know is whether or not Simpson discovered your wife's fraud or were you trying to stop him before he found out?"_

"_You're bluffing! You don't know a damn thing and you've got no proof!" The other man was red with rage. _

"_I have more than enough! And I'm going to drag you into court for Millicent James preliminary hearing and have you testify about this under oath. Then we'll start asking about what _you_ were doing in the office the night Simpson was murdered." Mason's voice dropped a notch. "And you'll by God tell the truth!"_

It was then they'd been thrown out.

Now Perry was on the phone with Della, asking her to meet him back at his office for a strategy session. Drake checked the rearview one more time, then the passenger door opened and Perry Mason got back into the vehicle.

"She'll meet us in about an hour," he told the detective. "We'll have time to stop at the diner and grab a quick bite to eat."

Drake nodded and eased his car away from the curve. "What was the idea – you went after Cooper with the big guns. Why not save your ammunition for court?"

Mason grinned. "I'm hoping to scare him into doing something reckless. If he thinks we've got the goods on him, he may get flustered enough to make a mistake."

"That's what I'm afraid of!" Paul exclaimed.

"Simpson found out about the scams. He'd already given up his freedom once for his son-in-law's double dealings. I bet he wasn't going to do it a second time. No doubt he confronted Cooper with exposure and Cooper had to shut him up. Millicent James walked right into the middle of things and Cooper wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to frame her for his crimes."

"And you're going to prove it in court?"

"Damn right I am," Mason answered grimly. "Pull in here," he said, indicating a small drive-in. "I'm starved."

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Della Street was removing her coat from the closet when a knock sounded on her door. She frowned slightly; Perry had told her to meet him at the office. Was he stopping by to pick her up in his car?

She tossed the coat on the back of a chair and opened the door.

"Miss Street! I'm so glad you're here." Jason Cooper smiled at her from the threshold.

Della hesitated at the sight of her thoroughly unexpected guest. Cooper sensed her confusion and pushed past her into the apartment.

"Please forgive my impertinence," he said. "But I desperately needed to talk to you."

"Whatever you have to say to me, you can do it at the office. During normal business hours," was Della's terse reply. She stood by the open door, her hand still on the knob.

"Normally, yes, but I needed to talk to you alone – it's about Mr. Mason. Please. It's important." He looked at her imploringly.

"I'm on my way to meet Mr. Mason now. I have neither the time nor the inclination to speak to you, Mr. Cooper." Della glared at him.

Cooper raised his hands in surrender and gave her his most dazzling smile. "Truce, Miss Street? I really want to apologize."

Della crossed the room to retrieve her coat. "Apologize?"

"Yes. I know I've made a mess of things with Mr. Mason." Della raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Ok, I know I've done worse than that. But believe me, things are going to change. And I need your help."

"Why would you assume that I would be willing to help you?" Della asked as she slipped her arms into the sleeves of her coat.

"Because you, like your boss, want to help your client. And I know if I can convince you that I am sincere about this, you can convince Mason." Cooper smiled again.

Della shook her head. "Whatever it is, you can't convince me. Forget it. Come see Mr. Mason tomorrow and you can try to convince him. And now you're leaving, because I've got to leave - I don't have time to waste with you." 

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

"That was a complete waste of time," Perry Mason grumbled as he and Paul Drake strode purposefully down the sidewalk towards the Brent Building's lobby doors. "That was probably the worst burger I've ever had. How do you live on those things?"

"Eventually you can't really taste them any more," Paul replied with a grin. "Occupational hazard of the working class." They were half a block from the entrance. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Della is supposed to meet me here," Mason said. "I'm going out to talk to my client again tonight and I want Della with me. She's good with this type of client - sort of a lie detector with legs."

Paul chuckled. "And what a pair of legs they are," he said as he reached out to grasp the door. Just as he pulled it open, he heard a soft *thock* sound. Mason grunted once, as if he'd been punched in the gut and the air forced from his lungs. Paul turned and saw that the lawyer had stopped a few feet behind him, clutching his chest. A second *thock* sounded just as Perry Mason dropped to his knees. Plaster sprayed from the wall of the building next to them.

"Perry!" Paul Drake grabbed hold of his fallen friend and dragged him over behind a cab parked at the curb. Two more shots hit the wall of the building and the sidewalk. Mason's shirt was soaked with blood and he was unconscious. The man at the newsstand saw the lawyer fall and rushed towards them to help. Paul waved him away, shouting "Get back – gun shots! Call an ambulance!"

The man sprinted off in the opposite direction while Drake ripped open Mason's shirt and removed his necktie. The wound was bleeding profusely and Perry Mason had gone deathly pale. His breathing was shallow and becoming labored. Paul worked feverishly to staunch the flow of blood. Finally Perry gave a sort of a cough and lay still. He was not breathing.

Paul couldn't find a pulse. He immediately began CPR. By now a small group of spectators had formed around them and another man took over chest compressions while the detective breathed for his friend. The ambulance siren sounded in the distance. 


	10. Chapter 10

Jason Cooper caught Della's arm and gave her his most charming smile. "Please, Miss Street. Don't you think you have a duty to your employer to hear what I've got to say? I promise it won't take long."

Della sighed. "Fine - spill it, but make it quick." She didn't remove her coat, but motioned him to a seat.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

The medics arrived and took over CPR. Paul, stepping back out of the way, rubbed his bloody hands down the front of his shirt and watched as they worked to stabilize the lawyer's vital signs.

A patrol car arrived and the officers got a quick sketch of the situation from the detective. They put out a radio call for backup. Within minutes an unmarked car screeched to a halt in front of the fireplug on the corner. 

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

"You're not telling me anything new, Mr. Cooper and I'm really not interested." Della got to her feet and crossed the room to open the door. "I've spent too much time listening to you already."

Cooper rose and followed her, pausing in the doorway. "Promise me you'll at least tell Mr. Mason I was here? I want him to know I'm trying to extend an olive branch."

"I'll tell him. You can be certain of that." Della closed the door, forcing him to step out into the hallway.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

"Drake! What in hell happened?" Lt. Tragg yelled as he exited his vehicle.

Looking dazed and unable to tear his eyes from the sight of the medical personnel working on his friend, Paul Drake spoke to the detective. "I don't know what happened. We were just walking along and I heard a noise - not even really a shot - and I turned around and... Somebody shot Perry."

"Did you see who did it?"

"No. I think the shots were coming from that building across the street - probably one of the upper floors." Drake gestured vaguely towards the office building opposite the Brent Building. Tragg nodded a reply and noted that a second car of patrol officers had arrived. He dispatched them to make a preliminary search of the area.

"Who knew you'd be here now?" Tragg asked.

"I've no idea. We were on our way back to meet Della." Paul's voice was tight with worry. "Oh God – Della! She'll be here any minute. She can't see this!" The detective ran his hands through his hair, giving in to frustration.

The ambulance drivers had loaded their patient on a gurney and were preparing to put him into the back of the vehicle. "I've got to tell Della - she's probably still at home," Paul said.

Tragg grabbed his arm, holding him in place. "You're in no condition to drive, Paul. You ride along in the ambulance and I'll go get Della." Drake shot him a grateful glance and then climbed into the vehicle carrying his friend to the hospital.

Tragg caught the eye of the medic who closed rear doors. He raised an eyebrow in question. The medic shook his head almost imperceptibly. Tragg ran a hand over his face, swore, and raced for his car. 

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Tragg knocked forcefully on the door of apartment 313. Almost immediately he heard footsteps inside. The door swung in and Della looked at the man in the doorway. "Lieutenant! What in the world…?"

Tragg didn't wait for an invitation before crossing the threshold. He took hold of the door and closed it behind him. "Miss Street -" he began.

"I don't have time for this Lieutenant," she broke in. "I'm already running behind." She picked up her keys and reached for the doorknob. "Unless you're here with a warrant, I'm leaving. You can walk me downstairs."

Tragg shook his head. He dropped his hand to cover hers on the knob. "Della...," he said, his voice softer than normal. Reaching up, he slowly removed his hat.

Something about that somber movement triggered a reaction in Della. Her eyes widened slightly as she read the emotion apparent in the lines of his face. "What is going on?"

"It's Mason. He and Paul Drake were on their way back to your office. Someone fired on them and Mason…" He glanced down at his feet, unable to meet the questions in her warm brown eyes. His hand still covered hers.

"Please," she said in a broken whisper. "Please tell me he's alright." His hand tightened over hers.

"It doesn't look good. They got him right in the chest. I don't think… I am so goddamn sorry, Della." He met her eyes now. She blinked and the color drained from her face.

"Where?" she asked.

He pulled the door open. "I'll take you."

Tragg turned on the siren and drove like a madman across town to the hospital. When he could spare a glance, he could see the tears on Della's face, but she wasn't sobbing. She sat stiff and straight, staring out the windshield. He'd handed her a handkerchief on the way downstairs in the elevator. Now she twisted it between her hands, turning and pulling at the material, as if pouring all the emotion she was working to suppress into her fingers.

Della had the car door open even before the car came to a stop. Tragg caught up to her as she entered the emergency room. They were greeted by a cacophony of chaos. Tragg slipped his arm around Della's shoulders and steered her through the crowd to the reception area. He released his hold on her, flashed his badge and inquired of Mason's status. His official demeanor brought a quick response and they were directed to a surgery waiting room on the second floor.

The waiting room provided quiet relief from the mass of people downstairs. At the sound of the door, Paul Drake looked up from his seat. Della released Tragg's arm, which she'd held tightly on the way up, and ran to Paul. Paul stood and caught her in a tight embrace.

"How is he?" she whispered.

Paul didn't answer right away, but clung tightly to Della.

"Paul?" she whispered again.

"He's in surgery," the lanky detective managed. He released his hold and parted from her enough to look down into her face. "It doesn't look good, Beautiful. It doesn't look good…" He swallowed hard.

Della drew in a ragged breath and nodded her head. As she pulled back she noticed the red smears on Paul's white shirt. "Oh God," she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. Her fingers clutched the shirt. Paul closed his hand over hers. When Della looked up at him, the tears on his face mirrored those on her own.

Her hand brushed his wet cheek. "He's going to live, Paul. He has to."

Drake nodded, and drew in a deep breath. "I'm going for some coffee. You want anything? Tragg?" He looked at the detective and included him in the request.

The Lieutenant shook his head. Della caught Tragg's eye and the sympathy and understanding that she read in his gaze was almost more than she could take. She gave him a half-hearted smile. "Thanks for being here, Lieutenant."

He nodded in response. "Arthur. Just Arthur, tonight."

"Arthur," she agreed. She looked around the room as if desperate to know what to do next.

"You two might as well sit down," Paul said over his shoulder as he left the waiting room. "There's no telling how long we'll be here."

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD 

"Mason family?" the doctor asked, looking at the three people huddled together in a corner of the otherwise deserted waiting room.

"I guess that's us," Paul answered, getting to his feet.

Della stood slowly, searching the doctor's face for clues. The two detectives moved close on either side of her.

"Are you Mrs. Mason?" the doctor asked.

Della started to answer, but Paul interrupted. "She's family. What's his condition, doctor?" He slipped his arm around Della's shoulders and she held her breath.

"It's critical at this point, but he's still fighting."

Della's body relaxed slightly and she drew in air.

"His injuries are serious," the doctor continued. "We've managed to make repairs, but it is still touch and go. If he makes it through the night, his chances will increase exponentially."

Tragg and Drake exchanged a worried glance over Della's head.

"If you want to see him, you should come with me now," the doctor continued. "He won't be awake, but..."

"Go, Della," Paul told her. "We'll wait out here." She nodded, took another deep breath, and followed the doctor through the door and out into the hallway.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPD

The intensive care ward was almost empty. Two elderly patients had beds nearest the hallway doors. Della Street followed the doctor to the opposite end of the long rectangular room to where Perry Mason lay.

"We're keeping him sedated. It helps his body concentrate on healing," the doctor explained. He checked the chart and the machinery that monitored his patient before withdrawing. "The nurse will give you 15 minutes," he murmured as he left.

Della didn't respond. She stood motionless at the foot of the bed, captivated by the rise and fall of the lawyer's bandaged chest. His breathing was deep and slow, no doubt being regulated by the tube that was stuck down his throat.

Della herself was afraid to breathe. She was afraid to move, to think, to feel. It was as if anything she did could shatter the scene before her and cause that rhythmic respiration to stop. Leaning on the railing at the foot of the bed, fingers gripping it so tightly that her knuckles went white under the strain, she simply watched him. Minutes passed unheeded and she started violently at the sound of the curtain surrounding the bed being pulled back.

A matronly nurse appeared and smiled her apology as she stepped around Della and replaced one of the bags on the IV stand. Della stepped back into the corner while the nurse completed her duties. The woman was leaving when her kindly eyes caught those of the worried woman. She hesitated before speaking.

"Your husband, dear?"

Della Street shook her head slowly.

"He's strong - a fighter," the nurse said. She glanced at her patient with a smile. "I think he's going to make it."

"I love him," Della said quietly. Her eyes finally moved from the figure stretched prone under the cotton blanket to meet those of the nurse. She wasn't sure why she said it, but she felt it imperative to say the words out loud.

"Tell him," the nurse urged. "He'll hear you. Tell him - but don't get his blood pressure up!" She grinned and Della managed a weak smile in return. "I'll give you a few minutes more," she continued and slipped out, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

"What's the story, Drake? I know Mason's got some enemies, but who's after him right now?" Tragg asked as he watched Paul Drake play with the dregs of coffee in his cup.

Drake looked up. "I've been trying to figure that out. It's got to be Jason Cooper. The James case goes to trial on Monday and he knows Perry is closing in on him. I guess Perry has him figured for the killer. He knows Perry is closing in on him for his crooked business deals and the Simpson murder. We'd been out to the Cooper house this afternoon. Perry really put the screws to him." Paul ran his hand around the back of his neck, trying to knead some of the tension out of the muscles there. "Cooper was a sniper in the army, Tragg. And after talking to Perry, he was mad enough to spit bullets."

Tragg shook his head. "I don't buy Cooper as Simpson's killer and besides, Cooper was at Della's apartment when this happened."

"What?"

"I saw him leaving just as I was arriving. I'm pretty sure he'd been in her apartment, but I didn't have the chance to ask her about it."

"No way," Drake said quietly. "If he was there, it was because he was trying to pull some sort of scheme. Della and Perry..." Paul hesitated. "She wouldn't willingly have anything to do with Cooper."

"I agree, but that doesn't change the fact that Cooper was not the shooter." Tragg sighed and glanced at the clock. "I'm going back to headquarters. I'll follow up on Cooper, just in case. Keep thinking – if Cooper didn't do this, who did?"

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD 

Della finally stepped up to the side of the bed and took Mason's hand. She stared at the hand for a long moment. When she spoke her voice was a ragged whisper. "You are a son of a bitch, Perry Mason. Just when I thought it was safe to love you, you go and get yourself shot." She paused for breath and gripped his hand tighter. "Damn it, Perry, you can't die. Not now. Not when...when we finally have a chance to make this work." Standing quietly beside him, Della waited, willing him to do something, anything to indicate he could hear her. But there was nothing. In another few minutes the nurse coughed quietly from outside the curtain, then pulled it back.

"I'm sorry, dear, but I've got to run you out." She checked her watch. "You can come back in about an hour."

Della nodded and squeezed his hand once more before placing it gently at his side. After a last, lingering looks, she turned and followed the nurse back out to the hallway. 


	11. Chapter 11

Della and Paul stayed at the hospital until late into the night. Paul was in constant phone contact with his office, getting up dates and directing his men as they made their own efforts, parallel to those of the police, to find Mason's attacker.

For her part, Della wore a path to the coffee maker. She took a steno pad from her purse and opened it to a blank page, which she filled, over the course of an hour, with doodles and patterns. The finished product was dark and heavy, a mirror of her emotions.

She and Paul were able to see Mason, briefly, two more times. Then the duty nurse advised them that no further visitation would be allowed until after 8:00 in the morning. After making sure the nurse's station had both their names and numbers, Paul convinced Della to go home.

"I know you won't sleep – hell, I won't either. But we can at least go home, get cleaned up, and spend the rest of the night sitting in better chairs," he said.

Still uncertain, Della glanced back to the closed doors of the intensive care unit. Paul slipped his arm around her shoulders. "He's made it this far, Beautiful. There is no reason for him to give up now," he said softly.

Della nodded, not trusting her voice, and allowed him to lead her out to the elevators and down to the lobby where they rang for a taxi.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

The night dragged on for days.

Della tried to go to bed, but every muscle, every nerve, screamed for action. In the early hours of the morning, her body finally took over from her mind and she fell into a fitful slumber on her living room sofa. Awake at dawn, she chanced a call to the nurses' station. The woman on duty assured Della that there had been no change during the night.

Paul's knock sounded at her door a few minutes later. Della let him into the apartment, noting the dark circles under his eyes.

"Morning," he mumbled, stepping inside. He all but fell onto the sofa.

"Same to you," she said, sitting down next to him.

He studied her profile for a moment before speaking. "I didn't think you'd mind a visitor at this ungodly hour. I figured you slept about as much as I did."

She nodded in response.

"You certainly look better than I do, though," he sighed, rubbing a hand over a recently shaved chin.

"I don't know about that," she replied. "I called the hospital. There's been no change. We can see him again in another couple of hours."

Paul barely acknowledged this. Instead he gave a heavy sigh and leaned forward, elbows on knees, head and hands hanging low.

Della got to her feet. "Let me make you some breakfast. You never ate anything last night."

"You don't have to," he said. "I'm not really hungry."

"You need to eat. And it will give me something to do."

He glanced up at her, a look of understanding passing between them. Paul stood and followed her into the kitchen. He leaned on the counter as Della assembled the ingredients for an omelet.

"This is nice," he said. "Lots of light and counter space."

"You sound like a real estate agent," she chuckled.

"Yeah." He gave her a half-hearted smile. "I've been reading a lot of listings. Looking for a bigger place."

"Really? Giving up your bachelor pad? I thought that place would fall down around your ears before you left it."

Bacon sizzled in the pan. Paul looked somewhat sheepish. "I, uh, was thinking about giving up on the bachelor part of it."

Della dropped the spatula and whirled to look at him. "Really? Oh, Paul!" A smile brightened her face for the first time that morning.

"It's your fault, you know," he told her, his laconic grin lighting his tired face.

"How so? I don't remember introducing you to anyone." Her expression was puzzled.

"No, but watching you and Perry is enough to make a man feel downright domestic. He's a lucky man to have found someone like you to care about him."

Wordlessly, Della crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her friend, hugging him tightly. He returned the embrace with equal fierceness. "I'm the lucky one, Paul," she whispered at last.

When Della released him and leaned back against the counter, the smell of burning bacon wafted up to them from the stove. "Oh, damn!" she exclaimed, quickly flipping the strips out of the pan as she wiped errant tears from the corners of her eyes.

Paul laughed softly and quickly rubbed a hand over his eyes while she was distracted. Within minutes they were sitting down to eat. Breakfast was a quiet affair, and both watched the clock as they ate.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD

Della stood from the chair she'd positioned next to Perry's bed and moved to the window. She stared sightlessly at the view beyond. She'd been in the room for nearly four hours now. Waiting was exhausting. Perry was there, but not there. The rise and fall of his chest was no longer regulated by a machine, but that was the only real change from the night before.

The doctor had been in and assured her that he was materially better. The anesthesia no longer kept him asleep and separate from her. Now it was his body that maintained the unconscious state, allowing him to use his strength to recover.

Recover? Looking back over her shoulder towards the bed, she could hardly allow herself to believe it. His skin was dull and grey. His eyes, hidden behind heavy lids, held no life. His hands were limp and lifeless, not registering her touch when she held them. But still he breathed. There was hope.

Paul had stayed for almost an hour before leaving in search of action. He couldn't handle the waiting. He opted instead to go out on the streets, looking for clues, hoping for revenge.

Her job was harder.

Della turned away from the window and took up her post at bedside once more. She tried to speak to Perry, to call him back with her voice. But carrying on a one-sided conversation was difficult. She took up the newspaper Paul left behind and began to read it aloud. She skipped the front page story.

_Prominent Attorney Attacked – Police Hunt for Would-be Killer. _

She read aloud for a while, then returned to the window. The day was sunny and hot, it appeared from the seventh floor window. A good day for the beach. Something about the vibrant sun outside made the hospital room inside seem even more like a prison. The pale fluorescence indoors seemed almost noxious compared to the light from beyond the plate glass window.

As she contemplated the horizon, eyes drawn to the façade of the Brent Building in the distance, the door to the room opened. She could see Paul reflected in the window. As she turned to greet him, Lt. Tragg followed him into the room.

Both men appeared exhausted.

Paul nodded a greeting. "Any change?"

Della shook her head. "What about you? Any leads?"

"I've got men digging into everyone's background. We're investigating, Cooper, his father-in-law, some of the major stockholders, Blanton, Cooper's wife," Paul told her, weariness evident in his voice. "I've even got men checking out Millicent James. Something about her has always seemed off to me."

"She's in love with Perry," Della observed wryly. "Maybe she decided if she can't have him, no one can." She rolled her eyes.

Tragg chuckled. "Run into that a lot, do you?"

Della smiled at him. "You'd be surprised how many women there are out there who believe once they've paid for his services, then they've paid for _all_ of his services."

The Lieutenant shook his head. "Why can't I have that problem?"

"You put women in jail," Drake said. "Perry gets them out. They are much more appreciative of the latter, I can assure you."

Tragg chuckled quietly. "You've got a point at that. While Drake's men are working on motive, we're covering means and opportunity," Tragg said.

"And?" Della asked when he paused.

"And, so far, not a lot," Tragg sighed. "We know the shot came from the roof of the building across the street. It's a four story building and most of the upper floor offices are unoccupied, which is why no one heard the shot. The roof access is kept locked," he continued, "but all the tenants have keys. There are three offices that have been rented in the last 30 days. We're concentrating on checking out those companies for any connection to Mason. They seem the most likely to have been involved."

"That makes sense," Della acknowledged thoughtfully. Something he said triggered her memory, but her tired mind refused to make a connection.

The men continued talking, but Della wasn't really paying attention. She moved back to the chair at Perry's bedside and seemed lost in though. They quieted when a nurse came to change the IV bag.

Once the door closed behind her, Tragg put his hat back on his head. "I'm going back to work."

"Good luck, Tragg. I'll keep you posted if any of my men turn up anything of interest," Paul said.

"I'll do the same." Tragg reached out to shake hands with the private detective. Then he turned to Della. He started to speak but she interrupted him.

"Susan Cooper!" she exclaimed. "That's it!"

"What do you mean?" the policeman asked.

"She runs a charity. I can't remember the name of it," she said, her voice rising with her excitement. "But they just rented office space in one of the buildings across the street from our office!"

"Cooper's wife? Surely not," Tragg said hesitantly. "Whoever pulled the trigger knew what they were doing. That was no lucky shot," he said, gesturing toward the hospital bed. "I can't see a society dame like that being able to -."

"Don't be so chivalrous," Della interrupted. "She could do it, Arthur. The charity is having a shooting event at the Cooper estate to raise money. Mr. _and_ Mrs. Cooper are hosting and participating." Tragg still looked dubious. "I saw the invitation myself, Lieutenant! Susan Cooper can handle a gun."

Tragg stared at her for a moment, then nodded and headed for the door. "I'll let you know what I find out."

Once Tragg left, Paul and Della returned their attention to the figure on the bed. "Still no change." Paul observed.

"I have been trying to convince myself that his color has improved, but…"

Paul gave her a weak smile. "Look, why don't you go get something to eat. I'll stay here with Sleeping Beauty."

"I'm not hungry," she said.

"Well, at least go stare at a different set of walls for a while," he insisted.

At length Della agreed and headed down to the cafeteria. Paul took up her position next to the bed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and addressed the patient.

"Alright, listen up, Perry. You have slept long enough. It's time to get back to the land of the living. You are killing Della. She's worried sick about you. She hasn't slept and won't eat." He settled back in the chair. "I sent her down to get something from the cafeteria, but I guarantee you she's just sitting in a corner, nursing a cup of really bad coffee. You keep this up, and she'll be in a hospital, herself!"

Paul stared at his unresponsive audience. Perry's breathing was unchanged, but the closer Paul studied him, the more he was convinced that Della was right. Perry's color was less gray than before.

"You may not have considered this, Perry, but with you out of the running, I've got a clear path to the girl. I'm thinking it's time for me to settle down. Been looking for a new place, even. Della would be perfect for me." He grinned and warmed to his theme.

"Just think about it, Perry – it'll be great! I'll comfort her while she's grieving. We'll spend all our time together, probably talking about you. But eventually, she'll see me as more than just a friend. I'll be there for her, patiently waiting, and then, as soon as she's ready – wham! I move in, fast as lightening, and sweep her off her feet!" He glanced at the door, as if worried Della might return and catch him in the midst of his facetious musings.

"Yeah, it will take her a while to get over you, but when she does, I'll be there. So, don't worry old man. I will be more than happy to take care of her." Paul chuckled to himself. "Yeah. That's my plan. Hell, I figure it will only take her fifty or sixty years to get over you. And then she'll be mine – all mine!"

With that, Paul stretched his feet out in front of him and slouched further into the chair. He closed his eyes. "I'm going to take a nap, Perry. Holler if you wake up."

A croak, not even really a word, came from the vicinity of the bed. Instantly Paul was upright again. "What? Was that you, Perry?"

The lawyer's eyes were still closed, but his head moved slightly in the merest hint of a nod.

"Perry!" Paul yelled. "What did you say?"

"Never," the strained voice repeated.

"Never what?" Paul asked, sounding confused.

"Never…get over…me." Perry opened his eyes and blinked several times, trying to focus. Finally his vision cleared and he managed a weak smile. "Della."

Finally catching his meaning, the detective let out a whoop of laughter. "Don't I know it! But you can't blame a man for trying. Damn, it's good to hear your voice, Perry. How do you feel?"

"Bad," Perry rasped, eyes closed again.

"I'm calling the nurse. We should get you checked out," Paul said as he reached across the bed to push the button to summon the nurse. "Della's going to kill me for making her leave right before you wake up. She's been here every moment that they would let her near you."

"W-who shot…?" Perry croaked, his voice weaker.

"Who shot you?" Paul asked. Perry managed a nod. "We don't know yet," Paul said. "But we've got some leads."

At that point, the nurse entered and began to check the patient. "The doctor will be here momentarily," she told Paul. "Perhaps you could wait outside for just a bit?"

Paul retired to the corridor and the doctor arrived. The detective was leaned against the wall, wondering if he could smoke in the hospital hallway, when the elevator at the end of the hall opened and deposited Della on the floor. Paul recognized her steps and turned in her direction.

"Paul!" she called when she saw him outside the room. She all but ran down the hall towards him. "What's wrong? Why are you out here? Is Perry-?"

Paul grinned at her. "Don't worry, doll. He's ok. He woke up! The doctor and nurse are in there now, doing an examination," he finished as she reached him.

"He's awake? Oh, Paul – thank God!" Paul swept her into a huge hug. When he finally released her, she eyed the door to Perry's room. "When can I – we see him?" she asked.

"As soon as they're done. I guess they've been in there about 10 minutes," Paul replied.

Just then the door opened and the doctor and nurse exited the room. The doctor came forward to talk to Paul and Della and the nurse carefully and quietly shut the door to the room and headed back to her station down the hall.

"How is he, doctor?" Della asked.

The doctor nodded. "He regained consciousness and responded well to my initial examination. He's extremely weak and still at risk for infection and other complications, but his incision looks good and his collapsed lung is almost fully reinflated. Right now he needs rest, most importantly."

Della gave a sigh of relief. Paul asked, "Can we see him?"

"Yes, of course," the doctor replied, "but he's sleeping again. As I said, he's very weak."

"We understand," Paul replied, noting the look of disappointment in Della's eyes. "Thank you for everything, doctor."

The doctor assured them he would be back that evening on rounds, then headed for the elevator. Della reached for the doorknob and looked over her shoulder at Paul. "Coming?" she asked.

He smiled and shook his head. "He's going to wake up again as soon as he knows you're here. Trust me on that, Beautiful. And I'd just as soon not be a third wheel."

"Oh, Paul, really! He'll want to see you, too."

"He's seen me." Paul grinned. "I'm going to find Tragg and see if he'll let me lend a hand."

Della rolled her eyes as she stepped inside the room. As she closed the door softly behind her, she leaned back against it briefly, unconsciously mimicking the way she often entered Perry's office.

Perry didn't look any different than he had when she left. Della crossed the room to his side. She smiled down at him and brushed her hand down the side of his face, then leaned in and kissed his cheek.

She stood and started to move away when she felt a tug on her wrist.

"Don't go."

"Perry!"

The lawyer managed a smile, but it finished a grimace. "I…good…to see you," he managed.

Gingerly, Della perched on the side of the bed. "It's good to see you, too," she whispered.

Mason squeezed her hand and looked into her eyes for a long moment. She met his gaze, then dropped her eyes as tears splashed down on their joined hands.

"Don't cry," he rasped, his voice a little stronger. Della looked up at him and smiled through the tears. "Don't go around getting yourself shot, if you don't want me to cry."

"Kiss me, instead."

He didn't have to tell her twice.

Even though she was careful and the kiss was all but platonic, Perry still gasped with pain when Della pulled away. "Oh! I'm sorry, Perry!" she exclaimed.

"It was worth it," he said, sinking deeper into the pillow, eyes closed.

Della touched his face once more. He appeared to be sleeping. She started to stand, but his hand, which still held hers, tightened and held her in place. For several minutes she sat silently at his side, hand clasped in his as she watched him breathe. At length he opened his eyes once more.

"You're beautiful," he said, his face relaxing into a smile. Della matched the smile. "How do you feel?"

"Feel like I've been shot in the chest," he replied, a frown creasing his features.

"Imagine that," Della said. "Do you need anything?"

He shook his head, briefly, before grimacing at the discomfort the movement caused.

Della's features darkened with concern. "I'm calling the nurse. They should give you some pain medicine." She reached for the call button.

"They did," Perry said. "It just hasn't started working yet." She appeared unconvinced. "I'm alright. I guess medicine must be working because I can at least talk, now."

"Good. So what do you want to talk about?" Della asked.

Perry frowned. "Who shot me?"

Della sighed. "I don't know. Tragg and Paul are both working on it. In fact, Paul left just now to go find out the latest. He was going to try to track down the Lieutenant. They are checking out Susan Cooper."

Perry raised an eyebrow. "Susan Cooper? That doesn't make sense."

"Why not? You think she couldn't have done it? Because she's a woman? That's ridiculous."

Perry tried to grin. "You get defensive of your sex at the oddest times, Miss Street. You want her to be the murderer just to prove some sort of equality with the lowlifes of the male version of the species?"

Della cocked her head to one side and considered his words. Then she matched his grin. "I suppose I can see your point. But we know she can handle a rifle. And her charity recently rented office space in the building across the street from the Brent. The shot could very easily have come from there. Tragg is checking on it."

"What about Cooper, himself?"

"Perfect alibi for the time of the shooting."

"I doubt it," Perry grumbled.

"He was with me," Della said. Perry's eyebrows shot up. "He showed up at my apartment, just as I was leaving to go and meet you. Wanted to talk. He was pretty obnoxious and refused to leave without being heard. I think he knew what was happening and had decided I would be a good alibi."

Perry reached for her hand once more. "And you're ok? He didn't hurt you?"

"I'm fine." Her face clouded. "I was fine, until Arthur showed up to tell me you'd been shot and you were going to die." She took a shuddering breath.

"You should know me better than that, Del." He caressed her fingers. "You promised to spend the weekend with me. I wasn't about to miss out on that. Although," he paused and looked around the room, "this wasn't exactly the weekend I had in mind."

Tears ran down the sides of her face, even as she laughed at his words. "I would never have forgiven you if you'd died on a damn street corner somewhere, without even having the decency to tell me goodbye."

Mason laughed, but stopped almost immediately. "Ow. Don't make me laugh," he said breathlessly. "Please."

"Fine. How about this instead?" She leaned forward and touched her lips to his once more, lingering, caressing, tasting. He was slightly short of breath when she pulled back. His eyes were still closed but a slow smile spread across his face.

"I like that better," he whispered. He opened one eye and looked up at her. "Now I have something to dream about," he said softly. "The pain medicine is definitely working. But I don't think I can stay awake."

"Then sleep," she said. She touched his face, hand cupped around the side, as her thumb slid across his lips. He kissed the pad of her finger and almost immediately his breathing deepened into a soft snore. Della smiled and rose carefully from her perch on the side of his bed. She stood watching him for long moment, before turning away.

She stepped into the small bathroom, closed the door behind her and leaned against the wall. Relief poured over her in waves and her shattered nerves couldn't take any more. Tears flooded her eyes and she let them flow freely, quietly.

He had come back to her. That was all that mattered.


	12. Chapter 12

"I don't have a warrant yet, Drake, and there is no way I'm going to get one on nothing more than a hunch," Tragg said. After leaving the hospital, Paul Drake had cornered the lieutenant in his office. "I'm going out there on nothing more than a fishing expedition. I'll talk to them and see what I can find out."

"They're too smart for that, Tragg! They'll clam up and you won't have anything. Let me go with you. Maybe you can't search the place, but I can. I'll do it while you're talking to them."

"No. Absolutely not! I know you're used to working with Mason and skirting the law, but I'm not going to let you get this case thrown out before it ever gets filed."

Paul Drake shook his head. "I'm not going to sit idly by and doing nothing, Tragg. This woman tried to kill my best friend and she damn near succeeded. I will do whatever it takes to get the evidence to convict her." His normally placid eyes burned with determination.

"Look, Drake, I know how you feel, but—"

Paul was on his feet and reaching for the door knob.

"Wait!" Tragg called after him. He sighed. "Ok, fine. Come with me." He took a step closer and glared at the private detective. "You can come. But you don't utter a word. Not one word. And you don't leave my sight. Got it?"

Paul started to protest.

"It's either that, or I lock you up for interference," Tragg finished quietly.

After a moment's hesitation, the private detective nodded in agreement and followed the police detective out the door to a waiting car.

"Remember, Drake, you are strictly an observer. Don't touch anything, don't say anything. Got it?" Lt. Tragg spoke as he pulled his unmarked car to the curb outside the Coopers' home in an upscale neighborhood.

"Got it." Paul's voice was grim. He was well aware that any other time, the police detective wouldn't let a private eye anywhere near one of his investigations. But this one was different. Perry Mason was a friend to them both, as much as Tragg might be loathe to admit it most of the time.

Tragg's heavy knock was answered by a housekeeper whose attitude went from chilly to frigid when the policeman showed his credentials. She left them in the hallway and went to notify her employer of her visitors.

Susan Cooper descended the staircase a few minutes later.

"Gentlemen," she drawled after the men had introduced themselves. "My husband isn't home at the moment. What can I do for you?"

"I have some questions for you, Mrs. Cooper. I'm investigating an attempted murder," Tragg said.

"Well of course, Lieutenant. I'll be happy to help in any way I can. Come out to the patio with me. We can talk there." She led them through a sun room to the covered patio. Once they were seated, she offered drinks. Tragg declined for both of them.

"Let's not waste time, Mrs. Cooper. I need to see your keys to the Gideon's Purse offices in the Ashwood Building," Tragg said.

"My keys?"

"Your keys." The reply was simple, but grim.

Susan Cooper drew herself up taller in her chair. "Perhaps you'd like to explain?"

Tragg sighed and glanced at his watch. "You don't really need an explanation, do you? And while you're getting the keys, perhaps you'll get the rifle as well and save me the trouble of making a search."

"Now I really must demand an explanation, Lieutenant. What in the world are you talking about?"

Tragg turned to Paul Drake, who, true to his word, had faded into the background. He watched the scene from the sidelines, granite-faced and grim. "Why don't you go out to the car and radio headquarters for me, Drake? Let them know I'm going to need that search warrant after all. You might let them know to alert the papers that we'll be bringing in the suspect."

Paul straightened from his post leaning against the door frame. "You ok with photographers at the jail? The reporters always want to bring the flash-bulb boys," he drawled.

"Fine." Tragg nodded. "They've been clamoring for news." He grinned at Susan Cooper. "They'll eat this up."

"How dare you!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "I will not have you bullying your way into my home and making threats of putting me on display for the newspapers. Unless you have a warrant, you can leave. Now!"

"Well done, Mrs. Cooper. Well done." Tragg remained seated, seemingly unconcerned by her outburst. "I'd find your indignation convincing if it weren't for one thing."

"What might that be," she asked archly, arms crossed over her chest.

"You've yet to ask me why we're here."

Her eyes widened briefly, but she recovered quickly. "It's obvious why you're here. I do read the papers, you know. And I'm sure Perry Mason's trashy little secretary has told you all about me." She glanced over at Paul, who shifted from where he leaned against the doorframe and now stood, arms crossed, weight balanced on both feet, as he glared daggers at her. "Oh, I'm sure she's batted her eyelashes and you fell for everything she told you. She's that type."

"What type is that?" Paul asked, his voice cold. Tragg gave him a warning glance.

"Gold-digging working girl, planning on sleeping her way out of the typing pool and into the mansion. I've dealt with those women enough to know." She turned back to Tragg. "When I married my husband, he was the one who gained financial and social status, not the other way around. Jason is a financial genius," she continued, "but he didn't have the background to finance his ideas. Father saw his potential. Together they would have made a mountain of money."

"But then Perry Mason started nosing around," Tragg said.

Susan Cooper's features hardened slightly. "Nosing around, telling lies, spreading rumors, doing everything he could to send Jason and my father to prison. And for what? It's not like he was getting anything out of it. Other than whatever satisfaction he took from seeing my family and my livelihood destroyed by his meddling." There was no hiding the bitterness in her voice.

Tragg's eyes narrowed slightly. "I understand your father was never the same once he got out of prison."

"That place broke his spirit," she said, her gaze shifting to one side. "He had no soul, no drive once he was released. Jason tried to take him back into the business, but he..."

"He didn't want any part of the…" Tragg paused, "business?"

"No, he didn't." She seemed to come back to herself, straightening slightly and tugging invisible wrinkles from the hem of her skirt.

"I hear someone had gotten to him – convinced him to dig around in the company books and turn over what he found to the authorities." Tragg's voice was casual.

Susan Cooper laughed derisively. "As if he could find anything. He was just a doddering old man, no longer capable of causing any trouble. And yet someone killed him. And I know exactly who was behind it – that damnable lawyer. He could never get over the fact that he may have won his case, but he never saw a dime from it."

Tragg nodded, as if in complete agreement. "You think Perry Mason had something to do with that? Put someone up to it?"

"I wouldn't know. But it wouldn't surprise me," she replied, her voice rich with cultured venom. "I will tell you this," she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "You've charged the wrong person, Lieutenant. That stupid little mouse, Millicent James, didn't do it." She smiled coldly and sat up straight again. "My father used to be someone. Someone I could be proud of. After Perry Mason railroaded him into prison, he was nothing. And still Mason wasn't satisfied."

Paul Drake shifted his position by the door, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. Tragg nodded again, thoughtfully, and let the silence stretch out for a beat. "I've had more than a few run-ins with that lawyer, myself," Tragg said.

"Then you know what I'm talking about," Mrs. Cooper replied. "He's positively unscrupulous! Why, just this week, he came to my office and threatened me – me!" Her voice rose and lines deepened around her mouth and the corners of her eyes.

"Threatened you?" Tragg sounded slightly shocked. "Threatened you about what?"

"He asked all sorts of stupid questions and then said he'd subpoena me to testify." She drew herself up straighter. "I've no intention of letting that man drag me into a courtroom. And he won't destroy my life a second time. I've worked to hard and too long to let him—"

Tragg interrupted her. "So who murdered your father?"

She blinked, surprised at the interruption. "I told you – Perry Mason put him up to it."

"Him?"

Susan Cooper sighed. "I'm not going to say any more about it, Lieutenant. If you want to know who killed my father, then you go ask Perry Mason about it. He's the one behind everything. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Mason had my father killed as a means of revenge against me and my husband."

"So you shot him," Tragg said abruptly.

"Of course not!"

"You shot him," the Lieutenant repeated, "while your husband covered himself with a handy alibi."

"Jason doesn't need an alibi. And neither do I. Regardless, we were both here at home, together." Her eyes shown with triumph. "He's at his office, shall I ring him? He'll tell you the same thing – we were together all afternoon and evening."

Tragg's eyes narrowed. "You didn't know your husband was with Mason's secretary?"

"No, Jason would never-! He wouldn't have gone anywhere near that woman! He was with me!" She was becoming hysterical. "You're lying! He was with me – the whole time."

"Saw him with my own eyes," Tragg said calmly. "I guess maybe he's already on the lookout for someone to fill your shoes since it appears that this time you'll be the one doing the stint in prison. He didn't tell you about his little heart-to-heart with Della Street? No? I guess he would want to keep that sort of thing a secret as long as he could."

Susan Cooper stared at him open mouthed for a long moment. "Get out!" she snarled. "Get out of my house – now!" She turned and stormed out of the room.

Paul watched her go and whirled on Tragg. "You're just letting her walk away? Arrest her!" 

"I don't have a warrant. Yet. And I don't have the evidence to pick her up without one." Tragg got to his feet. "The DA should be willing to give me a warrant after I tell him about this conversation, though. Let's get back to headquarters."

Drake nodded and followed the policeman back through the interior towards the front door. The housekeeper was waiting and all but booted them out onto the sidewalk. The door was closing behind them when they heard the shot.

PDPDPDPDPDPD

Perry Mason lay back on the pillows and looked expectantly at Arthur Tragg. Tragg glanced at the court stenographer, who indicated with a nod that he'd finished recording the attorney's words.

"I guess that's it, Mason," the police detective said, getting to his feet. "This case is closed."

"It can't be, Lieutenant!" Della Street exclaimed. She had been seated on the end of the hospital bed, facing Perry as he gave his statement but now turned to face Lt. Tragg. "You haven't arrested Jason Cooper. Aren't you charging him?"

"I'd love too," he replied, glowering at her. "I'd love to slap the cuffs on that mealy-mouthed double-dealer myself. But I've got nothing that will stick to him."

"He manipulated his wife into trying to murder Perry!" Della's voice conveyed her disbelief. Mason, his eyes betraying his tiredness, reached for her hand.

"You know that and I know that, Miss Street," Tragg said kindly, "but I have no solid proof. I've found papers and notes with all sorts of cryptic messages that make it obvious Susan Cooper thought Paul Blanton was working for your boss and they were conspiring against her. She thought, rightly so, it turns out, that Blanton murdered her father. Unfortunately, she thought Perry Mason put him up to it." Tragg nodded towards Mason. "Did Jason Cooper plant that idea in her head and water that seed until it grew into full-blown paranoia? Not a doubt in my mind. And not a shred of proof to be had."

Della appeared unconvinced.

"I thought I might get something from the housekeeper," Tragg continued. "She had been with the Simpson family for years and was loyal to Susan Cooper, rather than her husband. Unfortunately all she could do was confirm her employer's rather fragile mental state. Like us, she thinks Jason Cooper is responsible, but he's been to slick to leave behind any sort of proof."

"So he's going to get away with murder?" Della demanded, hotly. "First, Cooper starts this fraudulent mining scheme with Paul Blanton." She held up a hand, ticking off the points on her fingers. "Second, Blanton catches George Simpson poking his nose into things and kills him. No doubt Jason Cooper approved. Third, Cooper convinces his wife that Blanton killed her father because he worked for Perry. Fourth, he makes her believe that Perry is trying to destroy them, and she decides to shoot him."

When she paused, Tragg said, "Don't forget fifth: she took potshots at Blanton when you were all at the mine. I got word from the sheriff this morning – they've recovered Blanton's body. Don't know yet whether he died from a gunshot wound or the cave in."

"All of that – he's behind _all_ of that, and you're going to sit there and tell me nothing can be done?"

Tragg gestured impatiently. "Don't think that I like this any more than you do."

Before Della could reply, Perry squeezed her hand, drawing her attention.

"It's the way the system works, Della," he said quietly. "It may not be perfect, but it's the best there is. We're working for justice, not vengeance," he continued, cutting off any protest. "The provisions in the law that let Jason Cooper avoid prosecution are the same provisions that protect all of us from the whims of an ill-informed majority. This is the law. It's the best law on earth, and I will go to my grave fighting to uphold that law and seek out justice." He paused, the smiled grimly. "And don't worry, the universe has a way of evening things out. Cooper may not see justice served in a courtroom, but he will get what's coming to him, somehow, some way, some time."

Della looked him in the eye for a long moment. "You really believe that's true, don't you?" she said, her voice softer than before.

Mason returned her gaze, and shifted his hand on the bed, weaving his fingers into hers. "I know it's true. I know it."

Tragg sighed and got to his feet, motioning to the stenographer. "Let's get out of here. These two are going to get all hearts-and-flowers on us and I just can't stand that kind of thing." He pulled the door open and glanced back at the patient before leaving the room. "You're one in a million, Perry. Glad you survived. And glad you'll be laid up for a while and staying out of my hair!" With that, he closed the door on the sounds of laughter.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPPDPD

As Tragg and the stenographer walked down the corridor, the elevator doors opened and Millicent James stepped out onto the floor. She adjusted the vase of red roses she carried and proceeded down the hall to the room Tragg had just vacated. The policeman stopped and addressed her as she swept past.

"Afternoon, Miss James. You're looking well." He tipped his hat politely.

"Lieutenant," she replied, her voice less than friendly.

"I hate to have such a lovely young woman upset with me. I hope there are no hard feelings."

Millicent James thawed visibly. "You were just doing your job, I'm sure."

Tragg grinned. "Yes, but I'm glad to have been wrong." He stuck out his hand. She took it and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Aren't you sweet?" she said. "I'd love to stay and chat, Lieutenant, but I really must run. I've not been able to see Perry yet, and I'm sure he's been worried about me." She smiled and withdrew her hand.

Tragg glanced back towards the hospital room he'd just left, then back at Millicent James. "Now might not be the best time," he said, remembering the way Perry and Della looked into each other's eyes as he'd left, but Millicent was already walking away.

"Oh, don't worry – Perry won't mind. Goodbye, Lieutenant!" With that she sailed down the hall.

Tragg shook his head and turned back towards the elevator. "He won't mind, but you might," he muttered, pushing the button. The doors opened and Tragg stepped aside allowing the stenographer to enter ahead of him. He followed and faced the hallway as he pressed the button for the ground floor. He could see Millicent knock and open the hospital room door in one swift motion, not awaiting a reply from within. As the door closed, Tragg heard the sound of the vase crashing to the floor as Millicent James exclaimed "Oh, Perry! How could you!"

Tragg chuckled all the way down to the lobby.

PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPPDPDPDPDPD EPILOGUE 

After a forced convalescence that lasted far too long for his liking, Perry Mason faced his first full day back in the office. Della Street had extracted a solemn promise from him that he would take it easy. So, seated in his favorite booth in Clay's Grill, nursing a cup of steaming coffee, he did his best to keep the promise. Perry was waiting for his secretary to meet him so they could have a late breakfast together. Della had some taken some paperwork to the court house to be filed first thing that morning. He hadn't seen her since the previous evening.

When Della insisted on going back to her apartment the night before, she cited the need for a good night's sleep. He'd pouted and promised to be good if she would just stay. The look in her eyes made him weak in the knees when she said "You're not the one that that's the problem."

Perry knew that was only part of the reason why she wouldn't stay with him last night. She didn't want to be seen coming to the office with him this morning. Della was big on propriety. He understood her reasons. The secretary sleeping with the boss – it was a stereotype and Della didn't want to be seen as the stereotypical fortune-hunting, social-climber. And, to be perfectly truthful, he didn't want to be the flip side of that coin – the powerful man able to take what he wants from a woman and then pay her off to avoid a commitment.

Even though they were both single and supposedly free to do what they wanted, tongues would wag. The city ran on gossip and he knew it was only a matter of time before their relationship became fodder for the columnists. Everyone already assumed they were sleeping together.

And they were right.

'So what's the point in trying to hide it?' he mused. Unfortunately his lover didn't share his unconcern for the concerns of society, and so they had begun a façade of separation. 

Before they parted ways the previous evening, she agreed to his suggestion of breakfast at the diner. Now he stirred sugar and cream into his coffee while he waited. The coffee was a soft chocolaty brown by the time he had it just right. He ought to just give up and order hot cocoa, he mused, given the amount of cream and sugar he took in his brew. 'Cocoa. Hmm. Haven't had that in years,' he thought. 'Not since I was just –.'

"Hello, Mason," a familiar voice interrupted his reverie.

Perry glanced up at the man standing next to his table. "What do you want?" he asked.

Without waiting for an invitation, Cooper slid into the seat across from Perry. "Just happened to be passing by," Cooper said.

"Not likely," Mason intoned.

Cooper shrugged. He leaned back against the seat cushion. "Maybe I'm here to see you. Didn't want you to forget about me." 

"That's not likely to happen," Perry replied. "Now that you've reminded me, why don't you hit the road? Give me a chance to test my memory."

"I'm here to meet with a probate lawyer," Cooper told him. "My wife came from a wealthy family. I'm her only heir. Looks like I don't have to worry about my business any longer. I'll have plenty of money to do whatever I want."

"Good for you," Perry said and raised the coffee cup to his lips, smiling as he tasted the bittersweet concoction.

"You don't get it, do you?" Cooper asked, frustration coloring his voice. "I've won. I beat you. You can't touch me and I have everything I could ever want."

Perry raised his eyebrow in surprise. "You really think so?"

"Of course! I'm wealthy and successful. You've tried twice to put me out of business and you've only succeeded in making me wealthier." Cooper laughed, a frenzied little sound. "I've got it all and you can't touch me!"

Perry took another sip of his coffee and put the cup down. His eyes and attention were focused on the building entrance.

"It really bothers you doesn't it?" Copper gloated. "The great Perry Mason has been bested - beaten - by the better man!"

The lawyer just smiled and shook his head.

"Admit it!" Cooper insisted. "You can't stand to lose!"

Mason's smile widened as he saw Della exchange a swift greeting with the doorman. "I didn't lose. And you didn't win." His eyes followed the lithe form crossing the lobby, imagining the click of her heels against the polished marble floor tiles as her quick steps brought her to him.

"Of course I did! Have you lost your mind?" Cooper's face was turning red.

"Quite possibly," Mason said casually as he motioned to Della who'd just entered and was scanning the booths for him. She smiled and slithered down the narrow aisle towards him, avoiding the waitresses carrying plates and coffee pots as she drew soft leather gloves off of her elegant hands. Mason watched her appreciatively, totally ignoring his companion.

"Good morning, Perry," she said brightly as she approached the booth. "How are-"

She stopped abruptly at the sight of Perry's dining companion. Perry reached out and took her hand, pulling her down to sit next to him. Della looked back and forth between the two men. Cooper was obviously angry. He didn't deign to acknowledge her presence and seemed inordinately preoccupied with the cuffs of his shirt sleeves.

"Hello, Darling," Perry said. Della smiled at him, her eyes questioning.

"Mr. Cooper just dropped by to tell me what a wonderful time he's having, getting his hands on his wife's money," Perry explained.

"I see," Della answered cautiously.

"He wants me to know that he's won this war," Perry continued. "That color looks really wonderful on you, by the way," he said indicating her navy-blue suit. "Anyway, I think he is pretty excited about not going to prison."

"Really?" Della asked, catching the spirit of Mason's conversation. "I'd be pretty happy about that, too, if I were him. Don't you suppose he should be careful, though? I mean, rumor has it the Securities and Exchange Commission wants to look over his business records and they are nothing if not thorough."

Cooper laughed derisively. "Let them come! I'm untouchable! I-"

"That's a good point, Della," Perry said gravely, completely ignoring Cooper. "He also seems pretty happy not to be tied up in the bonds of matrimony any longer."

"Is that so?" Della asked. "Do you suppose he already has some sweet young thing waiting in the wings who is going to be perfectly happy to help him spend his money?"

"I'm sure," Mason said.

"You two think you're funny," Cooper snarled. "Go ahead and kid yourselves. But no one is laughing."

Mason looked at Cooper for the first time since Della's arrival. "You're the one who's doing the kidding, Cooper. You think you've had some kind of triumph. Well, who do you share it with? Who is happy for you? Who is it that is happy that you've gained some success Cooper? When you come home in the evening from doing whatever it is that you do, who is waiting for you? Now that you've got this wealth, who will you spend it on?" Mason leaned closer to his adversary, keeping his voice low and intent. "Who wants you to be happy? Who takes pride in your success? Who worries about you when things go wrong? Who?" He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Who loves you, Cooper?"

The other man stared at him, open-mouthed.

Mason waited a beat. His eyes flashed as he held the other man captive with his gaze. "If you can't answer those questions with a name - one name - without even having to think about it, then you haven't won, Cooper. You haven't won a god damn thing." Cooper glanced over at Della, who was watching Perry, pride shining in her eyes.

"You're crazy!" he exclaimed. "Just plain delusional." With that he struggled out of the booth and exited the diner. He tried slamming the door behind him, but the automatic door check took all the oomph out of the gesture.

The diner was silent for a heartbeat or two before the patrons returned to their own concerns. Perry looked at Della. "Pancakes?"

Della watched him for a moment longer, her smile wistful. Then she shook her head. "Bacon and eggs. We're taking a deposition this morning and I need protein to stay awake."

Mason gestured for the waitress and made the order. When he finished, he glanced over at his secretary surprised by the intense look on her face. "What?" he asked, gruffness covering emotion.

She started to say something, then just shook her head and smiled. "That was quite a speech you just made, Counselor."

The lawyer shrugged, suddenly very interested stirring his coffee. "I meant it," he said solemnly.

Della squeezed his arm, causing him to look over at her. "He didn't win as much as either of you think he did."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember what you told me, when you were still in the hospital? You said the universe has a way of evening out injustice."

Mason nodded. Della continued, "Well, I picked up a little gossip in the Clerk's office at the courthouse. The estate's attorney has just filed Susan Cooper's will for probate. She cut him off. Left everything to her charity. He doesn't get a dime - not even the house," she finished, smiling broadly. "He's broke, but the SEC will probably make sure that he's got room and board for the next few years."

Mason gave a small laugh, his eyes resting on her lips. "It doesn't matter. I couldn't care less about what's-his-name." His hand caught hers under the table and he looked into her shining eyes. "I've got a life – a great life – to get back to."

For a heartbeat they stared at each other, communicating only with their eyes. Then Della took a deep breath and drew her hand out from under his. "Deposition at ten," she said, briskly. "New client appointment at 11:30. Don't make any plans for the afternoon. You've got paperwork to catch up on."

The lawyer groaned and started trying to talk his way out of the afternoon's paperwork duties. The waitress brought their breakfast. And life returned to normal.

Or as close to normal as it ever got.


End file.
